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another-tmnt-writer · 4 years

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You Fell From the Sky

Leonardo x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Prompt: okay this'll sound real dumb bUT- this universe!reader meets bayverse boys? like maybe reader wakes up in the bayverse and is very aware about the turtles? i dunno it sounds confusing but maybe it's an interesting prompt?

Note: I love this concept. I’ve dipped my toes in the water before, but this time, I’m going all the way. Also, I know you didn’t specify a turtle, but I zoned it in on Leo. I can definitely write another if y’all want more because I’m obsessed with this idea. <3

Warnings: Some language…

Word Count: 1.9k

“Okay, guys, don’t crowd her. I’m sure she’s gonna be disoriented, and-”

“Donnie, is the angel alright? It must have hurt, falling from heaven.”

“Get outta the way, Mikey. Go wash the pizza off your hands.”

“Could we give her some room, please?”

The voices echoed around in your head, which was pounding painfully. You opened your eyes and everything was blurry. You were just about positive you were hallucinating, because when your vision finally started to come into focus, you were surrounded by four very tall, very familiar mutant turtles.

“No fucking way…” you murmured, looking up at each of them. They were even more detailed and lifelike than they were in the movies. Which was to say, very lifelike.

“Not the reaction I expected, but I’ll take it.” Mikey smiled, shifting to present himself to you. “The name’s Michelangelo, but the ladies call me—”

“Mikey, yeah, I know.” You cut him off and he gaped at you, his blue eyes wide.

“Are ya psychic or something?” Raph asked. You stared at him for a long second. His muscles were impossibly large, his eyes just as green as you thought they’d be.

“N-No, not exactly. I…well, I’m pretty sure I’m from an alternate universe. Or something.” You looked at Donnie, who was furiously taking notes and way taller than you expected him to be, and then to Leo, whose arms were crossed, his clear blue eyes analyzing everything you said. “Because where I come from, you guys are fictional.”

“Woah. I did not expect that.” Mikey said, looking at Raph for some sort of reaction from his older brother. “Bro, did you—”

“Shut up for like two seconds.” Raph snapped, his attention turning to you. “Can you say that one more time?”

“You guys are fictional. When I was growing up, I watched your cartoons, collected action figures, read your comics…This is unreal.”

“Comic books?” Donnie inquired.

“Cartoons?!” Mikey’s eyes widened.

You nodded.

“So…you know everything about us?” Leo asked, a twinkle of amusement working its way into his icy gaze. He wasn’t quite convinced yet, but he had to admit you were convincing at the very least.

“I mean, not really. Kind of. Maybe?” You shrugged. “I know you have a bonsai in your room.”

You didn’t think it was possible for them to blush, but after that comment, Leo proved you wrong, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just about everything then, yeah.”

“So what happened, Donnie? Why am I here?”

Donnie straightened up when you addressed him by name. “Uh, well, I was trying to figure that out, actually. We were out on patrol and there was a bright flash in the sky and you fell from it.”

“Leo caught you even though I called dibs.” Mikey pouted.

“You saved my life.” You gasped and looked up at Leo. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t just let you fall, ma’am.”

“(Y/N).” You introduced. “My name is (Y/N).”

“Well, (Y/N), I hope ya like the smell of sewer.” Raph chuckled. “If not, you’ll get used to it.”

***

The turtles spent the rest of the day asking you lots of questions about your world and the representations of them that were in it. You told them that the universe they were in was closest to a series of movies by Michael Bay, which, Raph and Mikey found exciting given their love of the Transformers movies.

Leo didn’t say much, but he was always in the room, listening. When night came, Donnie was the first to leave the room, retreating to work in his lab. Then Leo went to his room to sharpen his swords and water his bonsai. Raph went to sleep next, and Mikey stayed up the latest, playing Mariokart with you until pretty close to dawn. You’d almost forgotten that the boys usually slept during the day.

When you were out alone in the living room, Leo came into the room, holding a large knitted blanket and a pillow, a tentative look on his face.

“Hey.” He approached you quietly. “I figured you’d need these. It gets kind of cold down here.”

“Thanks, Leo.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “I really appreciate you guys letting me crash here.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least we could do.” He shook the blanket out and draped it over your legs. “If you need anything, my room is over there.” He pointed back towards where he’d come from.

“Thank you.” You smiled. “I’m sure Donnie will figure this all out soon enough and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as that takes.” Leo smiled and then added, “Good night.”

“Night!”

Once he was gone, you laid down on the couch and stared up into the darkness for a little while, thinking about the events of the day. You were stranded in the Bayverse. And…well, actually, you weren’t all that upset about it.

***

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you half expected it to all have been a dream. I mean, that was the only logical explanation, right? Well, then you took a look around at your surroundings and realized that it was three in the afternoon and you were in the lair instead of your bedroom.

Once you stretched and got your bearings, you got up and walked to the kitchen, where Splinter was pouring tea from a teapot.

“And you must be the girl who fell from the sky.”

You had to stop and admire him for a second. Master Splinter, the boys’ dad, a wealth of endless support and wisdom. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t looked up to him when you were young. Hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t look up to him now when you needed advice.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” You were shaking. “I’m not sure if the boys told you where I’m from…”

“They have, yes.” He nodded. “Donatello told me of the alternate universe you came from.”

“You helped me through so much when I was growing up. You all did. It’s really surreal being here.”

Splinter smiled and stroked his beard, that wise twinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad you found your way to us, child. We’ll make your stay here as easy as possible.”

“Thank you.”

“(Y/N), I made eggs.” Leonardo’s voice from behind you scared the hell out of you.

You jumped and turned around, laughing as your racing heart slowed back down to normal.

“Sorry. Do you like eggs?”

“I do, yeah.” You chuckled. “Thank you, Leo.”

“Of course. They’re on the stove.”

“There’s cheese on the counter!!” Mikey added, already sitting at the table. “I saved you a chair over here, angelcakes.”

You had to admit, hearing him say that in person did make your heart flutter a little bit. You put some eggs and toast (with jam, provided by Donatello) on a plate, sprinkled some shredded cheddar on top and settled into the seat Mikey had saved, conveniently located between the youngest brother and the leader in blue.

“So every day, you guys wake up this late?” You asked, still a little bewildered that breakfast was at three in the afternoon.

“That’s just the downside of living in the shadows.” Raph shrugged. “But it ain’t so bad.”

“Right, of course. It’s just different than what I’m used to is all.”

“So what do you do, normally? Like, in your world, I mean.” Donatello asked. He didn’t have his notebook on hand, but you could tell he was taking mental notes.

“Well, I’m a student. I’m in college. I read comics and watch movies, and sometimes I write in my free time.”

“Comics about us?” Mikey raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

Your cheeks burned red and you laughed. “Maaaaaaybe.”

Leo let out a little sigh and shook his head. “That’s still so weird to me.”

“Let me tell you, that’s a two way street.” You chuckled. Even thinking about it was still almost too weird to comprehend. You pulled out your phone, which still worked, fortunately, and went through your photos, scrolling all the way back to Halloween. You held it up to show them. “My roommates and I were you guys for Halloween.”

“And you were Leader Boy, huh?” Raph pointed out. “Noted.”

“I mean, yeah.” You didn’t think your face could get any more red.

“Wait, Leo’s your favorite?” Mikey pouted. “Aww…”

“I don’t think it’s fair to pick favorites. I like all of you guys for different reasons.”

“It’s alright if you admit you had a crush on Leo.” Raph whispered, cupping a hand around his mouth.

“Alright, alright, enough of that. She’s our guest. We’re not gonna grill her. She just got here.” Leo stepped in, a faint blush on his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t get the picture of you in a blue mask with little foam katanas out of his head.

“Right, there’s a two week minimum before we get to grill her.” Donnie added, grinning as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Aww, how considerate.” You laughed.

The rest of breakfast was pretty uneventful. You finished eating and then went out to the living room and settled onto the couch. Luckily, your backpack had made the trip over with you, so you had your laptop and some of your homework. Not that you could get online and get in touch with people from your universe, but at least you could get some writing done if you wanted to.

Leo wandered out, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, a soft look in his eyes. He hovered behind you for a few seconds before finally speaking. “Hey.”

Unaware that he had been there, you jumped. “Jesus! You guys are quiet, holy fuck.”

“Sorry about that.” He laughed, carefully sitting on the opposite end of the couch, giving you space, but still sitting close enough to make your heart flutter the teeniest bit. “And, uh, I’m sorry about them earlier. Raph specifically. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable or—”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” you said. “But thank you for checking. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He was quiet for a few moments before he asked. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Until yesterday, I’m not sure I did. But there’s gotta be something like that out there for me to end up here of all places.”

“For the record, I’m glad you ended up here, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. His blue, blue eyes met yours. “Is it selfish if I say I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around for a while?”

“Is it selfish if I agree?” You replied, causing him to laugh.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“Me too.” You smiled and just spent a few long moments admiring him. The movies truly didn’t do him justice. Honestly, it was the truth: you wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while. For a long while…

Part 2

#leonardo #leonardo x reader #leo #leo x reader #leonardo imagine #tmnt #tmnt imagine #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #bayverse

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julyarchives · 3 years

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Impulsive || (m) Teach Me pt.3

A lot of things go through your head when you think about your relationship with Wooseok, and so you feel very conflicted. You two can’t help but go for each other every time you are together, but where will that lead you two?

→ Pairing: Wooseok x Reader

→ Genre: Smut

→ Words: 1.9K

→ Contains: Smut; Friends To Lovers; Oral Sex (female recieving); Fingering; Masturbation;

→ A/n: To celebrate our birthday boy, here’s part 3 of Teach me! You guys seems to like it a lot, so this is coming together as a series, so hopefully we will see more of this cute couple on the future!

→ Index: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, part 4

Three days went by since your and Wooseok’s meeting in the cupboard under the stairs and your fun together afterward. You did stop by his room after everyone cleared the living room and well, things did get interesting. But since nothing is perfect, especially with him, he had an early morning and the whole week busy so you didn’t get to see him anymore.

It was a weird feeling for you to actually miss him since all you did was fool around with hands and mouths a couple of times. But he was also your best friend so you missed his company whatsoever. The strange feeling was how missing him now accompanied memories of his mouth and the ways you two pleased each other. You scoffed at yourself and went back to making dinner since you promised you’d make your signature dish for the boys this night.

The peace and quiet of the house were soon replaced by the loud noises they made as they got inside, all of them passing by the kitchen to greet you and compliment the smell of your food. Thankfully you were finishing it enough to give them time to shower and gather to have dinner. As everyone went to their shared rooms, Wooseok stayed back and awkwardly stood by the door, slightly scratching his neck in embarrassment.

“So, Y/N… Will… will you stay the night?”, he was blushing and suddenly you felt your cheeks hotter. You wished he was implying something.

“I don’t know yet, maybe”, you smiled and turned back to your food. “Go shower so we can have dinner”, you said firmly.

You didn’t hear him leaving but you certainly heard everyone coming down for dinner as you finished setting the table. The dinner was light and fun, even if they were all very tired. Their presence was soothing to you who was actually quite lonely at your place when they had to leave for work or worse, touring.

The boys were adamant about cleaning everything up for you and you stayed on the couch trying to hear the conversation, which was not hard since they almost screamed at each other just by talking. Unfortunately for you, that meant that you heard something you truly didn’t want to.

“Soo, Wooseokie, what about that girl you spoke to today”, you heard the leader say.

“What about her?”, he seemed nervous and somehow that made you nervous as well.

“She was pretty cute, wasn’t she?”, leave it to the sleazy maknae to make a comment like that, you almost huffed at Kino from the couch.

“You’re gonna ask her out?”, Shinwon said excitedly and everyone let out an “oooh” sound that made your blood boil. Why do that few days later of shoving you and Wooseok inside the cupboard?

The subject changed without an answer from him and you promptly shoved the memory of this conversation in the back of your head, you certainly did not want to deal with any sort of feelings now. To your luck, moments later the boys came back after finishing with the kitchen and quickly said their goodbyes to you so they could sleep. You didn’t even bother to say anything directly at your occasional roommate and just announced you’d be by the living room watching a movie.

Many thoughts and questions filled your head as the house fell silent and the movie started. It was a cheesy rom-com movie and you made your best attempt to focus on it, even if it was on the minimum volume. You’d cringe at every cheesy line, especially the seductive ones, but managed to have fun and forget about that conversation. That was until half of it when the stairs cracked and you jumped up, meeting a doe-eyed Wooseok frozen on it. You smiled and waved, that being the sign for him to come down completely.

As he went to the kitchen, you followed and closed the door behind you so your voices wouldn’t disturb the guys. You hoped on the counter as he got a few leftovers from dinner and quietly heated it. Your insides were shaking and you could see he seemed torn. The hum from the microwave filled the awkward silence and you felt more and more confused about his actions. When the electronic sounded the finishing alarm it seemed like that was Wooseok’s trigger.

He turned around abruptly and walked towards you with a serious face. You barely had time to react as he held your face with both hands and kissed you hard. Your hands pulled on his shirt and quickly the kiss became open-mouthed and heated, tongues meetings halfway and even some teeth clashing but it was an amazing kiss nonetheless. You remembered his previous reactions and lightly pulled his hair, earning a grunt from him and a very hard grip on your waist.

The make-out itself was pretty hot to you and soon enough your core felt wet and you felt bothered by how his hands stopped at your waist. His back was a perfect canvas for your nails to claw onto, his thin cotton white shirt making it all too easy. When you parted, you two couldn’t break eye contact and you only did so when he bit his lip slowly, carefully moving you to the edge of the counter and grinding on you just as slowly. You gasped at the feeling and so did he, who wordlessly started to the nib and kiss your neck, hands finally reaching for your thighs.

Your patience was hitting its limits and you whispered a little “please” while placing his hand on your core through your pants. Wooseok moaned at that, caressing you immediately, his mouth now biting your neck. When his other hand squeezed your breast, almost on cue, the microwave hummed loudly as if to remember it was still on. Wooseok jumped back and muttered a few words that sounded like “my food”, getting the plate out of the machine and looking at you, almost lost.

After a few seconds of deliberation, he placed the plate back in the fridge. He smiled at you, almost innocently.

“I guess I don’t need dinner again, right?”, he chuckled.

“Well, since you said so. What do you want for breakfast, baby?”, you said in a mental lapse, thinking too quickly back to the cheesy movie you were watching.

“…what? Why are you asking me about breakfast at 11 p.m., Y/N?”, the poor guy sounded so confused that you wanted to facepalm yourself but choose to go to the end with the cheesy line and rubbed yourself through your pants, closing your eyes at how good it felt. “Oh”.

You two stared at each other for seconds in silence before bursting out laughing. You jumped out of the counter and he took your hand right away, laughter dying down as he opened the kitchen door and almost dragged you upstairs to his room. When he closed the door, he pulled you close by the waist, one hand caressing your face before kissing you almost tenderly. Your hands caressed his chest and back, stopping at his arms and grabbing them for support as your legs trembled at how intimate it felt.

“Can we go to the bed?”, Wooseok asked uncertainly, almost as if he had never touched you before.

You nodded and laid down sideways, he was quick to follow, and soon you two were facing each other. The room was almost dark, a faint light making it possible to see him. His hand traced your side gently and your hand caressed his hair, making him close his eyes at the sensation.

“I want to taste you again”, he said in a shaky breath, “it’s all I’ve been thinking about”.

“Shit”, his eyes were still closed, biting his lip again. You couldn’t stop staring. “Please do”.

Wooseok untangled from you and moved down on the bed to reach you. He pulled your pants and panties too quick and that showed how desperate he was, that thought made you smile even in your current position. The lack of foreplay didn’t even bother you like his kisses and need for you got you wet in no time. The notion of him being this desperate for you and knowing you were the one who guided him in his first time tasting someone made you feel almost smug. It got stronger when you looked down and saw his dark eyes staring at your intimacy with hunger and fingers greedily squeezing your thighs.

The first touch of his tongue on your clit got you moaning and squirming, which encouraged him to keep going even faster, lapping at you with want. His hair felt soft in your hands and with every pull, you vibrated with his moans. It was hot in every sense and you could only take off the rest of your clothes to grab at your breasts yourself, the pleasure being too good. His long fingers found your entrance and with no hesitation, he got two in, not even giving time to adjust before pumping them in and out of you.

Everything felt too much, his ability to breathe through his nose coming in handy as he ate you out nonstop, and you almost laughed at how you thanked him mentally for being a rapper in your mind. Suddenly, he pulled out, earning a whine from you. Wooseok smirked at that, the puppy eyes now giving room to a very malicious face. He took his shirt off and got up to get the rest off. It was time enough for your fingers to take his place and massage your clit.

You were close and you knew it but you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching your peak. Wooseok grunted at the sight and quickly slapped your hand away and got back to his position, now instead of fingering you, he was pumping his member fast, way too fast. You had to cover your mouth with his pillow in order to not make a sound as he flicked his tongue perfectly, the sounds his hand was making only increased your horny state. A strong wave of pleasure washed through you and you managed to breathe out a few words before biting your lip enough to draw blood.

“Come with me, Wooseok!”, as all you could say and it worked, his movements with his tongue got messier and you felt the bed move with his hips pushing down on it, fucking his own fist and making his own orgasm last.

You two moved together until it ended, his slender body embracing you quickly and laying his head on the swell of your breasts. He took in a deep breath, making you laugh at how ticklish you felt. Wooseok stared at you with so much intensity that you almost looked away but he didn’t let you as he came down to kiss you once again. You didn’t even mind his mouth and chin covered in your juices as you two made out.

He didn’t have to say anything to you as he got up and took an old shirt of his from the closet and handed it to you. You put it on just as quietly, your mind a storm of feelings and you got comfortable to sleep with him once again. Wooseok was too quiet as he cleaned everything up, including you, very gently, which was out of character, and laying down next to you again. You reached to him and gave him a peck on the lips, watching him smile softly with his eyes closed. Just like that, he was asleep, his tiring agenda getting the best out of him. You went to sleep soon after, after too many thoughts, and the feeling that you were fucked overpowered every other. Well, maybe not how your heart raced when you thought of a certain tall funny boy…

#ksmutclub #wooseok #smut #wooseok x reader #wooseok smut #jung wooseok #pentagon wooseok #pentagon #pentagon smut #kpop #kpop smut #kpop imagine #pentagon kpop #wooseok pentagon #pentagon imagine

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novantinuum · 4 years

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Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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uwua3 · 4 years

Text

your name (pt.1)

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

part 1 — part 2 — part 3

summary: being an adult is tiring, tsumugi knows that all too well.

warnings: class divide (struggling financially), food

author’s note: this is the first ever series i’m doing! please anticipate the next installment of the “your name” series tomorrow :D i’m so excited to share this since part 01 is my first ever wip for a3 ever 🤍 please enjoy!

word count: 2,932

music: kimi no na wa soundtrack – radwimps

Running with reckless abandon, a boy trips amidst the bustling public traffic in the station, books flying out of his arms from the sheer force of his turn. Passer-bys barely spared a glance at the panicked tutor as he bent down to gather his academic papers, all imprinted by strangers’ shoes. In a moment of lifelong embarrassment, the world continued to spin as nothing rippled the fabric of time.

Murmurs spread across the crowd, daily small talk between people who would never see each other again on the complex train system. Students shared personal gossip too loud for their own good as their prestigious private academy skirts flew past him. Businessmen burdened themselves with client phone calls as they were all weighed down by the same leather briefcase. Employees wore their customer service mask, smiling politely before dropping their act immediately afterwards when they thought no one was looking. As expected, there was no time in the schedule to stop and help a recent university graduate out of his clumsy peril. Everyone was too distracted by their own problems to consider breaking their routine.

Perceptive by nature, Tsukioka Tsumugi didn’t need to glance at his watch to know he was late to his study session. The automated female voice sounded dull over the speakers, announcing his designated train was to depart in five minutes in a monotone attitude. Tokyo was a busy city with no mercy for those who didn’t plan every second of their future. That much was understandable by the aspiring teacher who quickly pulled out his outdated flip phone as he carefully eyed the assignments back in his possession.

A single tone rang before a drawl was heard in poor quality, with a shit–eating grin Tsumugi knew all too well.

“Tsumu, did you finally realize I don’t need your tutoring?” Settsu Banri mocked, the distinct background noises of his new video game obsession making Tsumugi speed walk even faster. With his books held tight against his chest, he sighed and almost pinched the bridge of his nose before realizing none of his hands were free. Placing the phone in between his shoulder and ear, Tsumugi rolled his eyes as he attempted to organize his mess.

“Banri-kun, please refer to me as Tsukioka-san. I am your senior by years, if I may remind you.” Tsumugi reprimanded, noting Banri’s agitated groan and muttered under his breath about the age difference between them. Unlike the other students Tsumugi tutored, Banri was defiant. Over–the–top, lazy, and arrogant—but deadly smart. Ever since Tsumugi carefully took off his shoes in the Settsus’ overpriced apartment, Banri took it upon himself to make his life a living hell by refusing to do the work but getting every question right. The only thing Banri cooperated with was talking about video games, which distracted him from his innate ability to be the best at everything. So on Friday afternoons, Tsumugi would visit to recap the weekly curriculum and try his best to stay patient with Banri’s snappy attitude.

“Why’d you call anyways? You’re late, by the way.” Banri pointed out right before Tsumugi fell through the two closing doors on the train, tumbling into a displeased but silent group as he gripped the overhead. Spectators only stared for a second before turning away as Tsumugi blushed under the attention, stammering back a half–assed apology of how he was going to be twenty minutes late for their session.

“Hold on, am I talking to the right person? Tsukioka Tsumugi, late? Real funny, just tell me you quit or something.” Banri feigned a bothered persona, but it was nice to pretend he was actually worried over the possibility of not seeing Tsumugi. Apologizing quickly to a corporate worker he bumped into, Tsumugi fixed the bag slung too low on his right shoulder as he took the phone back in his hand. At the same time, the zipper on his decade old bag gave out as it took his foot’s entire strength to keep the folders in place. Great, another thing to replace.

Staring outside the window, the school year was coming to a close as the heat of incoming summer air made him grip the phone in case of vicious sweat. “Banri–kun, you know I value our study sessions together.” He didn’t respond, just a resigned hmph before hanging up as Banri started swearing into his gaming headset. Tsumugi closed his eyes, getting his minutes of shut-eye for the first time in days as the sun glowed. Time didn’t stop for anyone, especially not Tsukioka Tsumugi.

After being greeted way too properly by the Settsu chain of servants, Tsumugi could hear the exaggerated game sound effects throughout the rather empty mansion. Walking carefully into Banri’s wide open door, Tsumugi grimaced at the sight of the energy drink cans crushed and thrown haphazardly near the trash can. Junk food wrappers were kicked underneath the expensive furniture as Banri was focused on his two–screen gaming setup. The rainbow LED keyboard was smashed expertly by Banri’s quick fingers all without looking down, getting him a #1 win as he boredly stared at the victory. As expected of NEO-san, a top league player. Or so Tsumugi’s heard by his other student, Taichi, who dramatically cries every time he loses against Banri.

“Banri-kun, please excuse my interruption.” Tsumugi announced, holding up the textbooks he had carried with a strained smile. Banri didn’t even look over as he logged off, saying something about GG to his teammate by the name of “Taruchi” before pushing the cat headset down around his neck. Spinning around in his black gamer chair, Banri raised one eyebrow at Tsumugi’s disheveled appearance panting slightly in the doorway. It was unlike his composed, proper tutor to be... like every young adult out there? Tsumugi didn’t seem like he had all the wisdom and knowledge in the world, he looked more... confused than anything.

“Geez, Tsumu. Didn’t think you’d sleep in, watched the meteor strike last night?” Banri smirked, rolling his chair across the room to his school desk as he put his legs up, stretching his arms beneath his head lazily. How he hadn't changed out of his white t-shirt and sweatpants was beyond Tsumugi as he sat in his normal chair silently, unlike the loud high schooler who glanced at the folder of work with a yawn. Grabbing some trendy bucket hat, Banri shoved the brim over his eyes as he took a break from the flashing neon blue light from his monitor.

“Meteor strike?” Tsumugi questioned innocently, attempting to hold conversation as Banri hummed a game soundtrack absentmindedly. Nodding, Banri pulled up his modern phone that made Tsumugi wince thinking of the price of that thing. Shoving the screen in front of Tsumugi’s wary red eyes, he blinked rapidly to adjust to the bright overpowering pixels. Tsumugi noticed an event marked that raved about the phenomenal light show the day before. Thinking back on the train incident this morning, Tsumugi remembered the excitement buzzing through the students a week prior as they whispered about a new chance to wear their best yukatas to celebrate. It had been so long since he was in school, that he completely forgot about all the childish euphoria that came with change.

“I must’ve slept through it. I didn’t notice at all.” Tsumugi admitted, tilting his head as he tried to remember the news every morning the past week. He couldn’t remember a single story of the astronomical event, although every day felt the same as usual. It was peculiar; Tsumugi was awake all night, too. He couldn’t sleep without his medication... maybe he should have looked up for once.

Taking his phone back to check the game notification popping up on screen, Banri chuckled as he shoved a stick of chocolate pocky in his mouth. “Mhmm, said it was a historical event n’ all. Supposed to be life-changing.” Banri offered bare minimum detail on anything and everything, but it was enough for Tsumugi to have a slight understanding as he set up the workspace. Banri noticed the distant look in Tsumugi’s eyes, the tiredness stifled underneath the graceful mannerisms as it looked like he was going through the motions. Attempting to lighten the mood, Banri’s voice came off meaner than he intended. “Aren’t you like? 25? How come you don’t know this stuff, you’re no boomer.”

Tsumugi frowned, glancing at Banri who looked away immediately with a flustered expression. Leave it to Banri to overthink whether or not he overstepped a boundary but refuse to acknowledge it. Tsumugi kept the meme going, sarcastically deadpanning, “Haha” before tossing a new eraser at Banri’s mushroom hair. Banri caught the gift in one hand easily as he slowly turned it over, turning his body to fully face his tutor. His feet dropped to the floor with a bang, startling Tsumugi to straighten his posture and stare directly into Banri’s curious face that had a glint of... concern?

“What’s all this? A gift to make me like you or something?” Banri jokes, nudging Tsumugi’s foot with his own. Tsumugi couldn’t help but notice the tight death grip Banri had on the small, game controller shaped eraser he had found at his full time work as a florist. Across the street was a one dollar convenience store, where teenage workers stood at the register on their phones as Tsumugi checked out the stationary. Wearing his dirt–stained apron, he remembered coming across miniature, adorable erasers that made him think of his students. Especially the red and blue Nintendo Switch joy con erasers that made Tsumugi think of Banri’s whole rant about the superiority of Fire Emblem: Three Houses’ Black Eagles for the potential wife girls. Sure, it was a hit on his already fragile bank account, but it was worth it to see Banri genuinely happy about something for once.

“You already do, I’m the longest tutor you’ve had.” Tsumugi didn’t need the thanks, because it was clear in the way Banri for once put something down without throwing it. Banri scoffed, mumbling a weak comeback as he flipped open his notebook. He even tossed his hat off his head, revealing the messy long hair tucked behind his ears. Oh, he did his homework for once, Tsumugi mused with satisfaction before trying to flip to the appropriate page in the school’s textbook. It was open to a section on meteors, and glossy colored pictures of the sky made Tsumugi’s eyes focus. The image seemed familiar. Perhaps he stared a moment too long, because Banri took the book himself and thumbed his way to the marked section, warily sparing a careful glance.

“Hey... you good? You don’t look... normal.” Banri roughly phrased, trying his best to emote like a normal human would. Tsumugi nodded, not convincing anyone he was off. Brushing his sweaty palms upon his jeans, Tsumugi pushed his hair back as he started reciting what he knew of the topic and reviewed the homework, failing to catch Banri’s attentive stare at Tsumugi’s cheap, hole-ridden pants and bag bursting at the seams.

Tsumugi went back on the same train. The people were the same, his schedule was the same. Banri was different today though, paid more attention today despite knowing it already. Maybe he just wanted to get it over with, probably some tournament tonight.

In the face of the orange sunset above the skyscrapers, Tsumugi walked home with a slow, natural pace that fit his time slot he allocated for transportation. The mental reminder allowed him to look up for once, seeing the birds fly together around the quieter part of the city as a golden haze reflected off the glass. Community members said their usual predictable greetings as he waved back, respectfully wishing good health to his elders and telling funny jokes to the youth playing sports. Yet, it didn’t bring him the fulfillment he got before when he was young. Being an adult, was tiring.

It was the same everyday, as Tsumugi left the residential area and climbed through the back alley to a slum part of town. Lights flickered as abandoned businesses creaked amidst the silence. He escaped the prying eyes of neighbors and unlocked the door to his dingy, unsafe apartment. Closing the door quietly, Tsumugi stared at the studio as silence overtook his surroundings. Dust floated in the golden hour as everything was where he exactly left it.

“Welcome home.” Tsumugi whispered, his own voice echoing in between his four walls. Alone, again. It was the same everyday.

Heating up the instant ramen expired in his cupboard, the microwave sparked every once in a while as Tsumugi leaned against the counter. Each surface he touched creaked with uncertainty, as if it didn’t know how long it could last. His one–room housing felt cramped despite the lack of furniture around Tsumugi. His run–down appliances, aged decor, and rising rent made the location even better as Tsumugi did the usual routine of eating half the calories he needed and staying up browsing job listings. This time, the ramen wasn’t as satisfying as the pastry Banri stuffed in his hand before he left.

“What’s this?” Tsumugi remembered asking, immediately feeling sick to his stomach once he saw Banri’s serious expression stare back at him. At the moment, it felt like Banri was his teacher. The sweet, strawberry mochi wrapped in plastic felt warm in his palm as Banri stood at the door of his own home, leading Tsumugi out with a gift.

“Mochi. You’re Japanese, dipshit. Just a thanks, I guess.” Banri bullshitted, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Tsumugi noticed they began to fidget a little bit as Banri tapped his foot against the welcome mat. “School punk named Juza bakes or whatever, has a family business so thought you might like it. Or whatever.” Banri elaborated, using one hand to tug at the already loose v–neck collar of his week old t–shirt. Was that a blush Tsumugi saw on his rather indifferent student? No matter, it wasn’t his business to ask about a troublemaker turned pastry chef.

He’d make sure to thank his student next time he tutored him, which would be (Tsumugi checked the wall calendar disappointedly) next week. Banri was a good kid, even if he had his teenage angsty rebellion phase for a while now. Privileged kids liked doing that, pretending the whole world was against them despite having everything, Tsumugi thought bitterly. Even he was slightly surprised and caught off guard by his own pessimism, before the microwave beeped, signaling its task was done.

When Tsumugi tried to pull open the door, the handle snapped off and a quiet sigh escaped Tsumugi’s lips. Guess no dinner for tonight, then. Tsumugi didn’t have enough fight in him to care, so he dropped the handle onto the counter with a clatter. Inside this studio room, there was nothing for Tsumugi here. Not even his own food.

So, Tsumugi sat down on the couch that groaned beneath his weight. Except, it wasn’t his own body that made his sofa creak—it was the stack of papers needing to be graded in his arms. With a red pen tucked behind his ear, Tsumugi began marking his students’ work. A minute passed before Tsumugi quickly turned the television on, letting the sound of the news distract him from the unbearable loneliness.

Sure, it was going to increase his bills but... the money would be worth it to make his thoughts quiet for a moment. Tsumugi had a job to do, and he wouldn’t let his mindset get in the way. Being an adult was something else, indeed.

When had he fallen asleep?

Tsumugi blinked slowly, finding that his cheek was resting against a substantially smaller stack. Another pile that was distinctly red ink was on the other cushion, the pen without its cap rolled across the carpet. Tsumugi subconsciously winced when he realized the T.V. was on, the same channel on in the background.

Lifting his head, Tsumugi tried to comprehend the visual of the screen through his blurry vision. Tsumugi’s glasses must’ve dropped somewhere; he hoped he didn’t step on them. From what he could hear, the duo of news anchors were animatedly discussing some supernatural phenomenon tonight. Tsumugi rubbed his eyes, leaning closer to the small box screen ahead.

There was no way he possibly heard that correctly. Yet, there it was on the T.V.: “Historical Meteor Shower Tonight!” in big bold letters at the bottom. Tsumugi could remember Banri talking about something like this, but it had occurred last night. Was there another one? How common was it for two meteor showers within a span of mere hours? Sitting up, Tsumugi watched the pair talk about the light show.

“This is said to be the first event of its kind in Japan!” The host exclaimed, the screen switching to a picture of the meteors. A sense of familiarity struck Tsumugi once more, the same feeling when he had seen Banri’s textbook earlier that day. “It’s said to be life–changing—” The other one replied, Tsumugi’s wide eyes focused on every single passing word and image. Could deja vu possibly last this long?

As Tsumugi fumbled for his phone, he made his way out onto his balcony. Something inside him was telling him to get some air as Tsumugi dialed Banri’s number. Before Tsumugi could confirm the call, a bright light appeared out of the corner of his eye.

Tsumugi looked up to see two bright meteors splitting from one another. At the sight, Tsumugi’s phone landed upon the balcony floor.

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tsumugi x reader #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi

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ukdamo · 3 years

Text

Remembrance of Things Present

One of mine...

The gloryhole in 89 Napier Street was the repository for practical things not necessarily needed immediately to hand: the scorched and rickety ironing board (the iron standing on its heel on the shelf above); left-over rolls of wallpaper; a canopy of coats cascading untidily from too few hooks; the two books (Universal Home Doctor and Family Bible); a bashed brown tea caddy, minus its label, that held buttons, wooden cotton reels, a selection of sewing needles, hair grips, press-studs on their cards, folorn biros with bitten ends; the Ewbank (at an earlier date), the reconditioned Hoover now in its stead. And mum's handbags. Old ones bulged with insurance policies, family snaps, the one £5 Premium Bond and the the three £1 ones, grave papers, mass cards, cast-off compacts with cracked mirrors or broken clasps, and almost-but-not-quite empty jars of Pond's cold cream. And the little cylinders of fake gold that held the stumps of greasy, muted-pinky-maroon lip sticks. It was all illuminated by a bare low-wattage bulb.

The gloryhole was, basically, under-stair storage. It was accessed from a door in the corner of the living room. Once the door was opened, you faced a narrow underdrawn space that sloped upward from left to right, following the contours of the stairs. In front, where the height permitted it, a shelf ran around the space. Under it were the old, two-pronged coat hooks. Mum's discarded handbags dangled by their frayed straps from those Victorian coat hooks, smothered by coats. They made occasional forays out into the light, when documents needed consulting or prayer cards needed re-homing. To the left of the door, down one-step, the space retreated into an increasingly confined wedge, so that the smaller objects had to be shoved into the deepest part of the recess and the taller ones stood immediately adjacent. The gloryhole was seldom decorated: it always lagged behind the rest of the house by at least two or three colour-schemes. Occasionally, when its yellowing paint became too depressing, it was freshened up by left over emulsion. The gloryhole housed the left-over wallpaper from various rooms - but never enjoyed a Polycell make-over of its own.

From the vantage point of 2017, Napier Street as our family home is long-gone. So are my parents; dad in 1995, mum a decade later. Equally long-gone are those old handbags with their stash of yesteryear's oddments. But, as I beetle along towards old age, the inherent power of those distant objects to seems to grow exponentially. The handbags and their associated evocations perhaps most of all.

Pond's cold cream. I don't know if it still exists. When I was a boy, it lived in small, glass, oval jars with bakelite screw lids. It was not gloopy or waxy. It was a reassuringly viscose white fondant, and had always the imprint of mum's last finger-scoop. The texture was cool, smooth and soothing. Its fragrance was of mum. Or maybe it was the other way round. A discreet scent of jasmine with distant lilies. It was soft on the palms and immediately made skin more malleable, less friable, less care-worn, more translucent. I can sympathise with her fondness for it: less a cotton winders' hands, more of a princess's. I used to have occasional dabs of my own: less a scrawly schoolboy's hands, more of an aesthete's?

In one or other of the bags there was a ladies Ronson lighter – it still had a working flint but its petrol-infused lint had long since dried out. I used to enjoy the dry, rasping spark with electric flare. Not so much a burning smell as a mechanical one. And then there were the compacts. They were usually smudged by the old lipsticks, their hinges encrusted with their own pink-blush powder. Indeed, the insurance policies, prayer cards and the faux-satin linings of the handbags were similarly smudged. The dull gold-coloured compact, the one with the cracked mirror, had a thin flat disc in it – satin one side and mildly padded on the other. Practically all the powder was gone from the insert. Little bevels of it remained where the side and bottom of the pan met. But the pad was still redolent of dustings and pattings. The powder was an anhydrous mist, different from the silky puff of Johnson's baby powder. Matt rather than shiny, the pad gave a satisfyingly muted pat when applied to the back of your hand. It had a fragrance, too, different from the cold cream, but complementary. The aroma was a pink carnation.

Mum was a delicate creature in some respects – allergic to anything other than gold jewellery. In this, I am not her son: I can wear any base metal, though my fondness and preference is for silver. Anything other than butter on her bread made her nauseous. Wartime had been a torture for her (the chemical coarseness of margarine, you understand). She had to trade all manner of coupons to secure enough butter. I sympathise with that. Her choice of butter was always Lurpak but she'd tolerate Kerrygold or Anchor if it was demanded of her. Stork – which the adverts claimed was indistinguishable from butter – was relegated to cake-making. Rightly so. Vile. Only desperation would make a person use it on bread.

Mum's repertoire of soaps was as limited as her butter.

Pears (those amber ovals) she liked – but it was too pricey. Imperial Leather (“Simon, Bermuda”) was also valued but equally pricey. I don't recall it featuring anything other than rarely – probably when it was on offer. We were a family of six, with four blokes, you see: that's a lot of soap. So, the mundane soap was a Lever Brothers stand by: Sunlight. With lanolin, even. I had no idea what lanolin was – but mum could use it on that delicate skin. This was in the days before hypoallergenic was a even a word, still less a range of products. Sunlight soap came in fat, cumbersome, rectangular, pale magnolia cakes. Really, it was very unfeminine: great half-charlies that were too big for the hand, unless you were a navvy or a coal miner. They had a wide groove on their upper surface, with a cursive 'Sunlight' stamped in it. I don't know if Sunlight is still going: it had a retro makeover many years ago but I can't recall seeing it in decades. The gradual demise of the C2 working class probably doomed it to extinction. And as for lanolin, people finding out that it was the oil from sheep's fleeces no doubt undermined its appeal, somewhat. Sometimes it's best not to know: when I hear what goes into mum's old Oil of Ulay (now sans oil, and simply Olay for copyright reasons, I think), it is cringeworthy.

But lanolin. I recall coming face to face with it a few years ago on a walk to the Water Meetings and Quaker Bridge in Barrowford. Summer time. No azure flash of kingfishers racing along Pendle Water that trip, but as I forked right and headed up the road into Blacko to follow it homewards, there was the buzz of clippers in a field. A Landrover was pulled up, with trailer uncoupled. The trailer sported on- /off- ramps, a generator, and a tall pole, attached to the top of which was a flexible bendy cord. At the end of the cord was the source of the insistent buzzing – sheep shears. The trailer was adjacent to a sheep pen, in which dozens of ewes jostled half-heartedly for position, and peered blankly out. I stopped to watch proceedings and, after a minute or two, the farmer came over, opened the gate, and invited me in.

And so we stood, the three of us. Me, the farmer, and the sheep shearer. And I learned about shearing, fleeces, and sheep. The shearer travelled from farm to farm (hence the Landrover with its bespoke trailer) making his way through Wales, Lancashire, Yorkshire on a pre-arranged timetable and route. He was netting £2 a fleece – and he had each of those pliable ladies, and some cantankerous ones – nabbed, shaved, and released at no more than 90 second intervals. The farmer penned the sheep ready, so there was no delay, and they contracted for a minimum number, so farmers with smaller holdings rendezvoused at the farm where the shearer was to set up. Prices for fleeces rose and fell – they weren't bad that year, as I recall, but sheep need shearing whatever the price.

The bewildered ladies were unceremoniously up-ended and plonked on their ample bottoms, whilst the young fella planted his muscular legs and gripped them, and set to work with the clippers. Mostly, they were subdued once he had them: perhaps reassured by his evident skill and no-nonsense approach. That always worked with me when I was a boy: the sound of the airplane clippers, the smell of 3-in-1 oil, and the firm purpose of the barber. Short back and sides and sparse conversation. Mind you, I don't think the barber netted £2 a scalp back in the day.

The sun shone, the sheep skittered off once fleeced, and we three chatted. Soon my eye was drawn to the large grease spot on the wooden trailer. Lanolin, live and in-person. Handy for soap making, handier still for shedding the filthiest Lancashire weather: these sheep were well set up for inclemencies. I noted, too, that the shearer was wearing moccasins. As the farmer explained, the best shearers wore moccasins. Their suede nap gave some purchase on the slippery grease and their firm pressure was kinder to sheep. Lots of younger men were sporting trainers now, he said, but he didn't rate them. They were not good. The risk of injury to sheep, and man, was increased. I found myself glad that the shearer stood fully congruent with his occupation – no flirting with any Nike or Adidas innovations. Real sheep shearers do it in moccasins.

After the family home was sold and mum and dad went to live in Lomeshaye Village, in one of the old-folks' flats, mum's predilection for Imperial Leather resurfaced. There was always a bar in the bathroom. With just the two of them (kids all gone) the economies necessary for a family of six, on a wagon driver's income, were less stringent. Imperial Leather as pensioner indulgence! One of the things that most endeared me to those lozenge-shaped bars of buttermilk hue was the little foil label that conjured up the decadence of the Romanovs. It was my understanding that the label was there to prevent the soap leaving a mess on the sink ceramics or soap dish: you stood the bar on its label. As the soap wore down, the label stood proud and the soap was no longer in contact with the sink – hence, no mess. Perhaps because we were very plebeian, the soap was never label down. You announced the fact that you were using it by having the label showing.

For me, nowadays, picking the soap up, lathering it under the tap, releases not so much a fragrance as a wave of nostalgia. Imperial Leather's fragrance has elements of sandalwood and the richness of plant oils – it's mildly exotic and suggestive of luxury. Which is, no doubt, what Cussons were aiming at. But for me, it mostly carries aromas of mum. It's powerfully evocative. Aromas are.

I recall a visit – with mum – to Gawthorpe Hall. It's one of the places we'd scoot off to for an afternoon of cultural noseyness, and cake. The cafe was lodged in the stable block and featured home-baking and pots of tea. Ideal for us. After a leisurely brew and news-swop, we were about to go and explore the lovely Elizabethan pile: I decided to make a visit to the lavatory first. The tea room was above, the toilets below, so I skittered down the stairs and found the Gents. The soap was in an old-school wall dispenser: fingers under, palm operates a rectangular squirter. One squidge was enough: the years receded and I was age six, it was dinner time, I was standing at a child-height sink in St George's RC Primary School, Vaughan Street, Nelson, washing my hands so that Mrs. Ingham (a diminutive tyrant) would not throw me out of the dinner queue. The soap dispensed in the Gawthorpe toilet was the same amber-coloured, antiseptic liquid that Lancashire County Council used in its school thirty years before. The power of scent created a wormhole in space-time and drew me through it, irresistibly. That power can be used to advantage, though. You can elect to make the journey. Fragrance can open the portal, on demand. If liquid coal-tar soap can take me to primary school, other fragrances can take me elsewhere.

4711, for instance. That eau-de-cologne can transport me to Köln, and the year 1976. It's a school exchange trip and I'm in Germany, staying with a family from Mayen: we're on a trip to Cologne. I've been up the cathedral tower and seen the Rhine bridges and I'm looking for a present for mum. On Glockenstrasse, at number 4711, stands an impressive perfume factory and shop – home to 4711. The original eau-de-cologne. Echt Kölnisch Wasser. It's still there – flagship shop of the perfume house, and it still glitters with possibility. I bought mum a bottle of the eponymous 18th CE perfume and she wore it ever after. Generally, she kept it in her current handbag (before they were, successively, relegated to the gloryhole). She'd dab it on her hanky and freshen up with it on car trips. As a perfume, 4711 has had an odd evolution over the 200 plus years of its existence; it was, originally, a men's fragrance for the prestige Houses of Europe. More latterly, it has been a women's fragrance – but 4711 indicate it as unisex. I agree. The scent is of citrus and wood that carries a fresh, sharp finish and has enduring undernotes. For me it's an everyday scent: it lives in my sports bag, for application after swims. It's also my travel fragrance and comes with me on every trip, near or far.

As I age (just clocked 56, Not Out), I seem to be developing a deepening appreciation for my past and how it has shaped who I have become. I heard once that making sense of your life is only possible when you look back over it – I recall an analogy that compared it to running your fingers over a fish's scales: they lie smoothly when stroked in one direction but are likely to tear your flesh if stroked in the wrong one. I can see connections, recognise how events and people shaped my experiences. I know I hold threads together, personally. I weave my own cloth - but on a loom I inherited. More tellingly still, some elements of the pattern, some of the aesthetics that inform the weave, some of the yarns, were given to me. I'm the child of weavers in more ways than one.

I can find, too, there's comfort in the sureties of the past. Like the familiarity of an old pair of slippers (not that I wear slippers), the quiet resonances of childhood are reassuring. I think we like continuity, as a species. We tell stories. We create in our own likeness. We look to where we came from to make sense of where we are and to decide where we want to go.

I'm conscious of my heritage. Not (I think) conditioned or stultified by it, or forever harking back to a mystical Golden Age that exists only in the warm fuzziness of a smug and delusional imagination. But I know I make choices which ensure there are tokens of continuity that I can carry with me into my everyday life. Mostly, they are mundane. And I like that, too. It's too easy to confuse what's important with what's valuable, unless you guard against that possibility. The richer you are, the more imperilled that discernment is: I've safeguarded myself against that risk very well!

My tokens are trivial. It's good that they are.

I think of the tea caddy spoon – it's in my kitchen, as it was in mum's kitchen, and as it was in her mum's kitchen before her (c/o a pre-WW II holiday to the Isle of Man): or there's my 'ice-cream' spoon – courtesy of Margaret Pepper and the Raj (well, the North Western Railway Volunteer Rifles, circa 1920). These tokens are a continuing connection with people now gone. They are stirred (if you'll forgive the pun) by everyday use.

I note, increasingly, that I am becoming my parents. I look like dad. Really: peas in a pod, chip off the old block, and so on. I look in the mirror and he smiles back at me. I look at my physignomy – and his fingerprints are all over it. My driving style evokes his. In some situations, I can sense him near. Curiously, he underpins my confidence in situations from which his natural diffidence would have disbarred him. If I stand tall, it's because he raised me. As for mum, she's around most days. Wimbledon Fortnight, she practically moves in. It was ever ‘our time’ - I’d rock up with whimberry charlottes, or strawberries, and we’d sit on the edges of chairs for hours and hours as Nastase, Connors, Becker, McEnroe, Ivanisovic, Sampras, Federer and Billie Jean King, Martina, Steffi and the Williams sisters thwacked balls back and forth. I miss her acutely then. And we both missed Dan Maskell, together. She’s at my elbow at breakfast when I make a pot of Yorkshire Tea (there's another evocation!); when the Imperial Leather is handled at shower time; twice weekly, in the men's locker room at Crow Wood, after a swim. Perhaps it's fortunate that the evocation is a personal, rather than an universal, one? (Otherwise, explanations might prove difficult).

I don't know if the trivial and potent associations that so flavour my life – 4711, Imperial Leather, and two old spoons – will evoke the same responses among my nephews and nieces and their respective kids once I'm dead. It’s open to doubt. They don't live cheek-by-jowl with them, as I do. It matters not. They will make their own. As things stand, I'm the orphan in the world, now mum and dad are long dead: the comfort blanket offered by fragrances and spoons is mine, and very probably mine alone.

There's quiet comfort in that, too.

#remembrance #memory #quotidien #daily #mum #margaret pepper #mary-ellen mcgough #grandma #friend #TimeMachine #FlickrFriday #damian's writings

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Beach Tagger

A/N: Hi hi!! Switching up from my usual angst and writing a bit of fluff ☺️ I love reading whatever you all have to say––it brightens up my day! Let me know if you have any requests or just want to chat! I loooooveeee making new friends💗

I’m trying to build up my masterlist so please if you have anything you want to request, my inbox is wide open!!

(come request or chat if you’d like)

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 4.6K

“And I’m telling you,” you took your bike out of the garage and put the kick stand in place before turning around to face Shawn, “It’ll be less crowded on second street.”

Shawn took hold of the handlebars of your brother’s bike and rolled it out, “But you said that there weren’t any shops or restaurants down that end.”

Once Shawn was out of the garage, you walked over to the electric security pad that had control to open and close the doors. You dialed in the digits of your grandma and grandpa’s birthday and watched the pad light up green as the garage doors began coming down.

“Do you want to get noticed?”

Shawn stood quietly for a few moments. It was day three of your five day mini-vacation visiting your grandma at her beach house and Shawn had yet to be spotted. The two of you were granted privacy with the house being located on the back bay. During the days you could swim, kayak, and paddle board without anyone bothering the two of you––besides your cousins and family.

It was all very serene; lounging around the family bay house, with your boyfriend, that you had spent every summer at. You had given Shawn a tour on the first day of all the essential places you spent most of your time as a kid. You took him by the best pizza shop in town, best ice-cream parlor, the soccer field you had camp at when you were ten, the alley way you turned down when you broke your wrist, and where you had your first job selling popcorn on the boardwalk.

The beach town was something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, a tiny quaint town where everyone knew each other’s business, but that didn’t stop the reality of Shawn’s persona. The first few days of the week were fine, you were able to take Shawn out to the boardwalk without anyone noticing him with his sunglasses and hat, but now it was the weekend. And the weekend meant that everyone from the mainland and bordering states would make the two hour drive down to the beach for a little getaway.

The beach town would be crawling with girls who would no doubt spend every minute of their weekend hunting for Shawn.

Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, “I guess you’re right.”

You didn’t like the dejected tone of his voice. So you left you bike and walked over to him. He was toying with the gear shift on the bike when you placed your hand on top of his, “If we get hungry we can bike down––or even walk––it’s not that far, promise.”

A small smile made its way onto his face as he flipped his hand over to squeeze your hand, “Sounds good.”

“Good,” you smiled as you removed your hand and went back to your bike. You kicked the kick stand up and lifted yourself up on the bike, “It’s like a 3 mile ride––“ Shawn’s jaw dropped, “––It’s all on flat ground!” You defended the mileage and gave him a once over, “And besides, you’re in shape, you can handle it.”

Shawn smirked as he slightly lowered his black sunglasses, “Checking me out, y/n?”

Even though Shawn was your boyfriend, you still blushed profusely, “I––Well, yeah. Yeah, I was.”

Shawn laughed and swung his leg over to the other side of the bike, “Good.” He then lifted himself up and peddled out of your cobblestone driveway and down the street, “Lead the way!”

You rolled your eyes and started peddling fast to catch up to Shawn. It was a little harder for you to speed up than him because you had a cruiser while he had your brother’s mountain bike. And while it was flat land you would be biking on, it was hot out.

Conversation was kept to a minimum biking down the main road, but when you led Shawn down the bike road, you were able to ride side by side and not worry about speeding cars. The bike road was the street over from the main shopping district of the town, so you were able to hear the chatting of people instead of the ocean waves.

Even though you and Shawn were riding in tandem, the conversation was still nonexistent. Shawn would occasionally ask you about certain areas you two had passed and if they had any significance in your childhood. Most of the time you always had a story for a place.

You had soon made it down to second street and just had to ride up the street in order to get to the beach. Waiting at traffic lights annoyed you, so you and Shawn would play “what are the odds” whenever you were stuck at a red light.

Shawn lost a round right when you pulled up to the boardwalk path that led to the beach. He was supposed to drink out of the spicket that beachgoers used to rinse off their sandy shoes.

“Please don’t,” you pleaded with him as you chained both of your bikes to the railing, “I don’t want Andrew calling me up asking me how you got dysentery on your vacation with me.”

Shawn shrugged and placed the two beach chairs on the sidewalk as he hovered over the spicket with a scrunched up nose, “When you lose odds, you lose odds, and if there’s nothing I stand by more it’s the rules to that game.”

You snorted, “That makes me feel confident tin our relationship.”

Shawn whipped his head up with a smile, “Odds are a way of life.”

With a roll of your eyes, you plucked your backpack out of the wicker basket attached to your bike and slung it over your shoulders, “C’mon, we’re wasting time and it’s a stupid game please don’t––Shawn! That is disgusting!”

He was only hunched over for less than a second before he turned the water off and wiped the water on his mouth off with the back of his hand, “That was pure salt water.”

“No shit,” you walked up to him and smacked him in the middle of his chest, “We’re next to the beach.”

With no response to his stupidity, Shawn took hold of your hand as he bent down to grab the handles of the beach chairs you would be using. The two of you walked up the sandy boardwalk ramp and you were prepared to see a beach tagger sitting in a chair at the bottom fo the ramp.

You were expecting to see a beach tagger that you knew. One of your friends who lives in the beach town year round had worked the second street beach location for the past year and a half. But he wasn’t sitting in the navy blue chair designated for beach taggers. There was a teenage girl who looked to be sixteen.

Immediately your hands began to sweat and Shawn looked down at you curiously. You chalked it up to being hot from the bike ride and just needing to get in the water. He seemed to believe it.

It felt like walking to the beach tagger took ages, but in reality it was a ten second walk down the ramp. She was reading a book and didn’t pay attention to you two at all, “Do you need to buy a day tag?”

You shook your head, “Uh––No. We have season passes––here,” you brought up the strings of your back pack where you had two beach tags pinned.

The girl dog eared her book and looked up at you before looking at the passes, “You’re good to––“ her abrupt stop to her sentence made you wince. You knew she looked up again at you. And you knew that she looked up at your boyfriend, not expecting to see Shawn Mendes, “…Go.” She cautiously finished up her sentence.

“Cool, right, yeah––Thanks.” You took off down the dunes and dragged Shawn along.

“What are you––Slow down,” Shawn whined as he kicked up some sand. You slowed down a bit, but as you did, you turned your head over your shoulder and saw the teenage beach tagger not engrossed in her book like she had been before. She was rapidly typing on her phone.

You knew she was telling someone she saw Shawn when she turned her head and made eye contact with you. Her smile was giddy, and you couldn’t blame her. Working as a beach tagger was literally sitting and do nothing for hours. It was boring. And now she had just seen Shawn, a musical performer that you assumed she liked, and it had probably made her entire summer.

“She noticed you,” You muttered under your breath as you and Shawn found a good place to set up your chairs.

Shawn unfolded a chair and pushed it into the sand,“Hm?”

“The beach tagger,” you nudged your head over in the direction you had just come from as you unbuttoned your shorts and flung the t-shirt over your head. You took the sun tan lotion out of your backpack, “She noticed you and she’s telling people she saw you.”

Shawn rolled his eyes as he got the second chair in place and took the sun tan lotion from you, “So what?”

“So,” you stressed as Shawn began rubbing the lotion in on your back, “People will find out that you’re here and mob you.” Your eyes involuntarily closed as you felt Shawn’s hands work deep on your shoulder blades, “We did so well the past few days.”

Shawn laughed as he brought his hands on your shoulders, lifting your bikini straps so he could get sun tan lotion under them, “We were cooped up in your house for three days.”

“We still went out and did stuff!” You exclaimed as Shawn glided his arms down your arms to wipe away any excess sun tan lotion. Your breath grew shallower as he slid his hands slowly down to your hands and played with your fingers. He intertwined your hands and pulled your back into his chest.

Shawn then crossed your tangled arms over your stomach as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder, “I don’t care,” he kissed your cheek, “I like being in public with you.”

His breath was hot as he hung over your ear for a split second before untangling one of his hands and trailing it up the front of your stomach, “Although…If she hadn’t seen us maybe we could’ve been a bit more…” he let his sentence trail off and your eyes widened when you felt Shawn’s fingertips lightly graze under your bikini top.

“I think your mother would absolutely cut your head off if she saw any pictures like that in any publication.”

Shawn let out an overdramatic sigh as he removed his fingers the under part of your top piece and hooked his arm around your waist, “I know,” he squeezed you tight, “Such a shame.”

You laughed and untangled yourself from him. You picked up the sunscreen and squirted some lotion into your hand, “Now, if there’s one thing Andrew will call me up about, it’ll be because of how burnt you got.”

With no response, because Shawn knew you were right on that one, he turned around and bent his knees so you could lather up his back. You took longer than necessary, wanting to spend more than necessary feeling every crevice of his back. By the time you had applied three coats to him and told him almost done for the seventh time, you knew it was time to stop.

The next few minutes the two of you applied sunscreen to your face, arms, legs, and Shawn insisted he get your stomach. Can’t ever be too prepared for the sun, he said, you could always miss a spot.

And you never denied having Shawn’s hands roam your body.

It was just after twelve, with the sun being at its hottest point during the day, and all you wanted to do was jump in the ocean. The smell of the salt water and squawk of the seagulls mocked you for not being allowed in.

“You have to let it soak in,” Shawn berated you, “You grew up on the water, don’t you know that?”

“I do,” you grumbled as you leaned back into your chair, “I just feel really sticky from the sun tan lotion.”

Shawn muttered something about you being needy and you kicked sand his way. After a few more moments of sitting down, Shawn stood up and held his hands out for you to take, “Up.”

You didn’t question his simple command and reached your hands out to grasp onto him. When your hands connected you couldn’t ignore the jolt of electricity that still zipped through your veins like the first time you had ever touched him.

He dropped one of your hands, but kept the other hand held tight in his. Just like you had told him, there was barley anyone on the second street beach. It was more residential up this way of the town and all of the weekenders went to the main strip of the boardwalk to have easy access to food, bathrooms, and mini golf.

You meandered down toward the ocean and walked up to where the ocean waves just met the shore line. The two of you just stood there, watching the tide bring in little broken shells and then take them back out to the ocean. After a few moments, Shawn squeezed your hand and the two fo you began walking along the shallow part of the water.

“Thought we had to wait to get wet,” You chuckled as the waves barely covered your feet for ten seconds.

Shawn kicked some water, “Needed to cool off, plus, I think our feet are fine.”

You hummed in response, not knowing what else to say.

Conversation was never pressured in your relationship. The two of you prided yourselves on enjoying each others company more than anything else. But there was something off with this offbeat silence of ocean waves.

“Talk to me,” You nudged his shoulder with yours and looked up at him. He looked down at you with a fond smile, “Something’s up.”

Shawn nudged your shoulder back and chuckled, “I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Did you really just pull the I’m fine card with me?” Your tone was light hearted, but when Shawn’s unnerving silence carried on, you changed your tone to one more of concern, “Are you nervous for tour?”

“Will you miss me at all?”

Shawn didn’t miss a beat with his response. It was as if he had the question echoing around his head all day and was just waiting for the right time to bring it up. The point of the mini-vacation was to spend as much time with Shawn before he jetted off to Europe to embark on a summer tour. He had already completed his rehearsals so right after this weekend was done, he would be flying to New York City to meet up with Andrew and the rest of his crew, and then flying over to Amsterdam.

You had met Shawn through a mutual friend at university when he happened to show up at one of the house parties. And since then, the two of you were constantly together; whether it be on FaceTime, phone calls, texting–literally anything. Right from the start Shawn had expressed interest in you and wanted to skip the whole friends first phase.

He was impatient, but it was a decision that you agreed with. His personality was infectious and his laugh was addicting. You didn’t want to waste any time pretending like you weren’t interested in him.

That was October and it was now the first week of June. The only time you experienced Shawn on tour was for his Jingle Bell tour run in December. And while he was just in the United States, it was still complicated to keep up with his schedule and tour demands. It was early on in your relationship that you had to learn to adapt to his lifestyle. He thought it made him undesirable, but it made you appreciate being in his presence and seeing his smile a million times more.

But a European tour was different. This was day after day for months on end with an intense time zone difference. It was going to be difficult, you didn’t lie to yourself about that, but you were confident enough in your relationship that it wouldn’t change anything.

So when Shawn instantly asked you––will you miss me at all––at all––In the least confident voice you had ever heard come from his mouth, you felt your heart get carried away with the tide.

“I––Of course I’ll miss you,” you spoke in a strained voice, not liking whenever this topic was brought up, “I––I’ll miss you everyday, Shawn, but you’re going to have so much fun.” You squeezed his hand.

He sighed and ran a hand through his curls. One of them bouncing back in place, “I know…I know…I just––I don’t know.”

“Hey,” you stopped walking. It took Shawn a few seconds before he was pulled back since he was continuing walking down the beach and you came to a standstill. You squeezed his hand and spoke softly, “We have a plan, we’ve talked about this.”

Shawn kept his eyes trained out toward the ocean’s horizon, a far off look in his eyes; pain.

“I know––I don’t even know why I said that––Just, forget it. It’s not important.” He went to start walking, but again, he was pulled back by your hands still being connected and you standing still, “Y/n…”

You tugged on his hand again until he stood next to you. Both of you were now looking out into the unknown ocean, “It’ll be hard,” you gulped and Shawn responded with a monotone yeah, “But we can do it. It’ll be hard, but we’ve done some distance before, this is just a bit…longer,” you realized that what you were saying wasn’t really helping the situation.

You sighed, “I’ll always pick up your calls.”

“What if you’re at your internship?” He fired back.

“Then I might not answer it,” you answered honestly, “But––I’ll say I have take a bathroom break and then I’m all yours for fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” It was the first time Shawn broke concentration with the ocean and stared at you with wide eyes, “That’s a fucking long bathroom break.”

You shrugged and offered him a soft closed lipped smile, “I’ll just say it was a terrible shit.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter. His eyes were shut tight and his mouth let out a laugh so pleasing that you wished to be the only one to hear it for the rest of time, “They’ll never let you go to the bathroom again––Or––Or they’ll have you clean it up.”

Again, you shrugged and smiled up at him, “Worth it if I get to talk to you.”

“Even if I have to hang up like thirty seconds later?” Shawn’s voice returned to its anxious state, “Even if you call back like right after I call and I don’t pick up––“

“It’s all worth it,” you leaned into his side and brought a hand around his waist. He slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, “Even if I get your voicemail.”

“I’ll miss you,” Shawn spoke lowly. The raw tone of passion and honesty that he held in his voice sent chills down your spine that made you want to wrap yourself in a blanket in the middle of summer, “I’ve––I don’t think I’ve missed anymore more than you before and I haven’t even left yet.”

You never felt a smile overtake your face just like the one you had plastered on your face right now, “Good,” you were sure your smile was blinding the sun, “Because I love you too much for you not to miss–––“

You cut yourself off faster than the thought left your lips. I love you too much. You had been in a relationship for around eight months––close to a year––and the two of you knew that you loved each other, but it’s just never been spoke out loud before. Shawn knew your reservations with that word and respected it. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in love, or had a bad history with an ex-partner, but it was the commitment that the word brought out. It was commitment that this relationship had potential to be something more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.

Love was the closet thing that the world had to magic; it seemed too dangerous to throw around something so magnificent in power.

Your mouth went dry, “I––Well, you––You’re gonna be gone for so long and I––You better not miss Brian more than me or we’ll have a serious issue––But like, I get he’s your best friend, but I’m your girlfriend––Eh––Hold on, that sounded really possessive and weird because like––I like Brian and I like your friends––Your whole world shouldn’t revolve around me––“

“I love you, too.”

“Because if it revolved around me, then we wouldn’t have a healthy relationship and––What?”

Shawn tilted his head and shifted your body so that you were in front of him, eyes locked, “I love you.”

“You––What?” It was the second time Shawn spoke those words to you, but you still couldn’t process the information.

“I love–––“

Your eyes closed as your heart opened up, waiting for Shawn to kiss you after telling you he loved you again. His lips softly touched yours before he was interrupted from finishing the sentence you wanted to hear from him and only him for the rest of your life.

“Are––Are you Shawn Mendes?”

It was a bit of an awkward situation. Shawn had his hands on your waist and your hands were flat against his muscular chest. His lips were still hovering yours and he let out an annoyed sigh as he continued rubbing his thumb softly over your hip.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and plastered on a smile that you knew was a bit forced.

“Hey, yeah––I’m Shawn,” He introduced himself as he still kept an arm thrown over your shoulder, “And what are your names?”

The three teenage girls all looked at each other silently screaming about how they couldn’t believe they had run into Shawn Mendes in their tiny beach town. You always enjoyed being present when fans met Shawn. You loved how they looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky, but you were pretty sure you looked at him the same way too.

Shawn conversed with the fans for a few minutes, asking their recommendations for places to go in town, where their favorite mini golf was, and telling them all what he had done the past few days in town. Of course they brought up the dreaded topic of tour and you felt Shawn tense up as he sputtered out his media trained response; it’s my favorite part of the job, I can’t wait to get back out and see everyone again. While that statement was true, you knew that he was more apprehensive about this tour and what leaving you behind meant.

You took their pictures individually with Shawn and then a group picture of the four of them. One of them asked for a picture with you, which you politely declined.

“It was really nice meeting you girls,” Shawn flashed his signature smile, “But could you hold off on posting those for a few days? I’m really trying to stay low key and relax before tour.”

They all nodded their head vigorously––Of course, Shawn–––We wouldn’t want to invade your privacy, Shawn––We’re just so thankful you took time to talk to us, Shawn––We totally get that you want to spend time with Y/n, Shawn.

Their last statement made you smile.

The girls walked off holding onto each other’s wrist whispering––Did that really just happen?! Shawn Mendes?! Here?!––and you grinned up at Shawn who was already beaming down at you.

“You just made their day.”

“Ah,” Shawn tsked, “You just made my day.”

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off your shoulder and began to walk away in embarrassment. Of course you were going to talk about what had slipped through your lips just moments ago, you wanted to talk about it, but you didn’t want any teasing from Shawn.

“Hey,” Shawn whined as he managed to grab your hand before you were too far away. He pulled you back into him and resumed the position you found yourselves in before the polite fans not-so-politely interrupted your moment.

His hands felt soothing on your roasting hot skin, “I love you.”

His nose brushed yours softly as you let your eyes flutter close and let out a content sigh, “I love you, too.”

And just like that, you felt as if everything aligned perfectly in the world. Everything in your world felt complete. The sun shinned with a new meaning, the salt water air smelled sweeter, and the thumping of your heart beat with a new purpose.

You loved Shawn Mendes.

His lips touched yours lightly, no more than they did just before the girls interrupted, admittedly, you expected more of a kiss for saying I love you for the first time to each other.

“Remember; you told me you loved me five seconds ago,” Shawn rushed out in a whisper.

You opened your eyes, “Wha––“ but before you could register anything, you felt Shawn grab your waist as he hoisted you over his shoulder. You felt his shoulder collide with your stomach and your vision of his face was replaced with his swim trunks. You weren’t that upset about that part.

But as soon as stereotypical thoughts of your partner’s butt came into mind, you felt the cold ocean water hit the back of your calves. You managed to lean up slightly and hook your legs around Shawn’s torso. His musical laugh rang through your ears once more as he adjusted his hands to grip the bottom of your thighs that clung to him for dear life.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him as you nuzzled your face into his neck and shrieked, “Shawn! Don’t you––“

Before you could finish your sentence, Shawn let both of you be consumed by the salty ocean water. The temperature of the water didn’t feel remotely as bad as it had before now that your whole body had been in the water, but it was still not a pleasant surprise.

Once Shawn lifted both of you up for air, you smacked his shoulder, “Why did you do that?!”

Shawn shrugged, “I don’t know,” he offered you a guilty smile, “But you love me, so it’s alright.”

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t find anything to rebuttal that statement. You loved the way his eyes glistened under the sun. You loved the way his wet hair stuck to the sides of his face. You loved the way he listened to the nonessential details of your life. You loved the way Shawn put his best work forth in music, family, life, and with you.

So, yeah, you couldn’t be mad at him. You weren’t mad at him.

You loved him quite a lot.

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ohtheseboysilove · 5 years

Text

The sunflower always finds its sunlight V [Roger Taylor x F!Reader]

Words : 3, 300 K +

Warnings : language, alcohol,, angst, eating disorders, drugs

Summary : Roger likes Reader since forever but the timing seems to just never be right for them. Reader is still haunted by her past relationship and kept rejecting Roger who know nothing about the abuses she had been victim of. After being rejected for the sixth time, Roger thinks it’s time for him to move on…

🌼Requests are open🌼☀ Masterlist ☀

“You’re doing real great progress (Y/N), I will see you next week” You smiled timidly at your psychologist, shaking her hand before making your way out the room.

You sighed deeply when the loud wind blew in your hairs, helping you breathed easier. It had been a month since you stared your therapy to talk about the abuses you had been victim of and it was slowly but surely helping you. You only had four sessions so far, you were still being a bit shy about telling your deepest and darkest secrets to a total stranger – well, she weren’t anymore but still – but you couldn’t deny it was a real relief to have someone to speak and who wasn’t judging you.

A delicious smell was floating into your flat when you pushed the door open, noises and humming coming from the kitchen. Freddie, probably. He had an emergency keys and since he found out you were struggling again with your eating disorders, he spent most of dinner time with you, making sure you ate a minimum. If he is busy he would call you to check on you. You found that a bit annoying at the beginning, feeling like a child constantly watched but after a week or so, you were grateful, having someone who cared so much about your health, it was so nice, helping you to get better for sure.

“Honey, I’m home” You shouted with amusement as you dropped your bag and coat on a chair, kicking off your shoes and slipping into a comfy hoodie. You made your way to the kitchen to find Freddie wearing your apron, a big cooking-pot fuming on the baking tray. “Its smell heavenly Fred, what is it ?”

“Oh, hello my little sunflower ! I went to mom’s today and she was scared I would die of starvation without her home-cooking meals, so here” He pointed to the plate of curry rice on the counter.

You winced at the nickname sunflower, you had been called that since you were a kid due to your contagious and inexhaustible happy mood and its stick even during your teenagers years and then adult life. You were a little sunflower, always turned toward the sun to see the bright side of everything. But that was before. You lost this joy about half of your relationship with Donovan, mostly because of him, crushing every bit of happiness you could have left in your body. Around the same time, you lost your paternal grandmother so everyone assumed you were sad and hurt because of that and you didn’t contradict them, hiding the consequence of Donovan’s abuses on you. The truth was that you barely knew your grandmother but it had been the perfect cover. After that, you asked your friends to stop calling you like this, it wasn’t right anymore, it just sounded dumb.

“Don’t call me Sunflower Freddie, it’s not me anymore” You murmured as you took from the cupboard two clean plates.

“Nonsense, darling. I know you’re going through some tough times since few years but inside, your still our little sunflower (Y/N), you will be alright. I believe in you” He pinched your cheeks and chuckled when you thanked him, maybe a tear or two shinning into your eyes. “Dinner is ready ! And I’m fucking starving” He poured the hot vegetables on the rice as you grabbed the spicy chicken, taking everything on the living-room table.

“Bon appétit” You both giggled like kids at your dumb french accent and you dipped enthusiastically into your plate, letting the sweet and sour food melted into your mouth. “It’s so good Fred, you need to thank your mom for me”

“Indian food is the best comfort food, ever” He winked at you and stole some glances at your food, checking you were eating correctly. You were both chatting happily, telling about each other day like an old couple and it felt good to have someone around, loneliness weren’t your cup of tea anymore so you were definitively glad for a such good friend. “By the way, we’re going out tomorrow night”

“By we, you mean…?”

“You, Paul, Rog, Nina, Brian, Chrissie, and yes, even John and Veronica are in, amazing right ? Our little Ronny said she didn’t have a night of fun since the baby Deacon is born so it’s going to be fuuuuun” He pushed the empty plate in front of him and you did the same, only a quarter of the food was still inside, making Freddie hummed contently.

“Do I have any choice ?” He shook negatively his head and you sighed. “I guessed I need to find an outfit then, any suggestion ?”

You and Freddie spent the rest of the evening making a splendid mess in your closet, looking for the perfect outfit. You opted for a nice pair of stripped wide-leg trousers with a knotted flowery top with loose sleeves. The outfit was cute and hiding your too-thin-for-your-taste arms and also your ribs still visible from your drastic lost of weight from the past months, you were clearly doing better but you were still not comfortable enough to put tight and short clothes. But it was a beginning.

You clenched the black jeans jacket tighter around you as the fresh wind tickled your neck, the sun slowly starting his descent in the cloudless London’ sky. You were supposed to meet your friends in a new pub in Camden Town, you were rather excited, it had been a while since you all get out like in the good old days. You pushed the door opened and you were immediately greeted by the familiar smell of the cold cigarette and greasy foods. Pub life.

“Hi everyone !” You threw your jacket on an empty chair and sat without any grace, sighing with relief at the warmer temperature than outside.

“Ah my little sunflower is finally here ! We didn’t wait for you, we were starving !” Freddie exclaimed before biting eagerly into his burger. “But I ordered you a beer, unfortunately you took to much to time so I had to drink it before its getting warm” He shrugged and you chucked softly, looking the menu, your mouth drooling over all the foods on the table.

“Oh, we’re allow again to call you sunflower now ?” You curled a crooked smile to Roger and stole a salty chips from his plate.

“He didn’t ask my opinion about it” You stated and quickly looked back at the menu, still a bit weird to have an eye contact with the drummer.

The day you almost confessed your feelings to him was a month ago and both of you acted like nothing happened. Nina was still in the picture, siting cosily next to Roger. The blond had feel horribly guilty after your little conversation, he had act like no one was already in his life, begging you to confess your feelings, completely disrespecting Nina, he promised to himself that won’t happen again. She was his girlfriend and he would act like a good boyfriend, pushing aside his feelings for you, he couldn’t wait forever for you.

“We need to choose wich club we going after” Veronica wiggled her eyebrows with excitement as her husband rolled his eyes, not seeming really into going out after dinner. “I heard the one you in Soho is really cool, it’s rock music and it look great”

“What about the gay club near Leicester square ?” Brian scoffed at Freddie’ suggestion, his cheeks flushing lightly.

“I don’t go in gay club anymore, it’s...too wild for me” He murmured as Chrissie cooed at his intense blushing.

“Ah poor Bri ! You still didn’t forget this crazy evening ? You need to take this stick out of your ass my darling” Everyone giggled as you all remembered the last time you were at a gay club and Brian had been awfully popular, men sticking around him like flies. He had been adorably cute, gently pushing away every man with a nervous smile when some hands were a bit too adventurous. Roger, the usually most popular – after Freddie, of course – was jealous but never stopped teasing his friend about it.

You left the table few minutes to order a plate of sweet potatoes chips and a fresh beer before sitting back, the discussion of the club was finish, Veronica had win. You took a sip of your drink and thanked the waiter when he brought your meal, your fingers immediately dipping into the chips.

“Hey (Y/N), I saw you yesterday !” You plunged your greasy chip into the ketchup and shoved it into your mouth, an eyebrow curiously lifted. “I was just leaving my yoga class in Hammersmith and you were just entering this psychologist Cabinet at the corner of the main street, I was surprise, didn’t know you were seeing a psy” Nina commented before sipping her coke through a straw.

You almost chocked onto your chip, blush creeping on your face. You looked at her with round eyes, not understanding why she thought sharing this information with everyone was a good idea. It was private and personal and no one knew before now.

“You’re seeing a psychologist ?” Roger asked incredulously, his spoonful of cheesecake hanging in the air.

Every pair of eyes were on you, an awkward silence suffocating the table. You swallowed your food and babbled some lame excuse : “Hum, yeah...I’m...I needed to talk about some hum issues to someone, so yeah”

“About what ? What is going on ? Are you okay ?” You knew Roger was just acting as a worry friend but it was fucking private.

“Roger, I don’t think (Y/N) want to expose to everyone her personal reasons, just drop it” The soft but firm voice of Deaky delivered you from these three longest minutes of your life.

You nodded timidly and flashed to the bassist a grateful smile before bowing down your head into your plate, chewing absent-mindedly a chip. You could feel Roger’s gaze on you, he hated secrets, especially between the two of you and how close you were. If only he knew all the things your hid from him for years…

You were slightly tipsy from the beers you had and you were sipping your second fruity, sweet cocktail which Chrissie placed in your hand ten minutes ago as she went on the dance-floor, Veronica by her side. The proximity of all these bodies wasn’t your favourite thing, in fact it was making you rather uncomfortable, that why you were sitting in a booth next to Deaky and Brian, both of them looking at their wives with amusement.

You felt so awkward, your spine shivering every time you made an eye contact with a man, quickly focusing back on your sparkly drink. God it was going to be a long night.

But thanks to the alcohol, after few more drinks and several shots with the girls, you were feeling absolutely free, dancing like you were the only person in the room. And you kept drinking, dancing, drinking, dancing until your stomach started churning. You stumbled to the toilet and splashed fresh water on your sweaty face, shutting your eyes close.

“You’re okay hon ?” Nina gently asked as she was bended against the counter, her hands making a straight line of coke with her credit card.

“m feeling sick” You slurred as she sniffed the drug with an old note rolled like a straw, throwing her head back in pleasure. You looked at her as she wiped the rest of the white powder off her nose and blinked several times, shaking energetically her hands.

“Too much drinking hum ? I’m not very good at holding my liquor so...” She motioned to the little bag of coke with a grin. Her pupils were already starting to flare as the drug hit her system. “Want some, hon ? Already done coke before, right ?” She asked with a lifted brow.

No. You never did cocaine. You had try few little pills which had make you all giddy and excited but you never went into hard drugs.

“Roger didn’t want to do some tonight, don’t why, he had been weird all night” She added with a complaining tone as she took out her red lipstick from her hand bag, sliding it onto her puckered lips. “The other night he took a line directly from between my breasts and god I swear it was the hottest thing a man ever did to me and after that–“

“I want a line, yes !” You said a bit more louder than you should have but Nina didn’t even notice, too busy giggling excitedly. Why you said yes to the girl ? Maybe because you wanted her to shut up. Or maybe because you thought Roger would find you more interesting if you take hard drugs like a rock star. Completely stupid but when Nina started straightening the line, you didn’t stop her. You were also a bit curious to see how you were going to react to the famous white powder. And the thought of forgetting about yours problems for few hours was really appealing too.

“Here, hon” She smiled sweetly at you and handed you the rolled note. “You can finish, I’m going to dance, too much energy now !” She shook her head with excitement and left you alone.

You nervously grabbed the note and placed it in your nostril before sniffing the drug with a trembling hand. The effect was practically immediate as you scrunched your nose, your eyelashes batting furiously.

“Wow” You murmured as you looked at yourself into the mirror, feeling like someone just injected you a litre of coffee directly into your veins.

You felt electricity ran through your body and you quickly exited the bathroom, walking or rather bouncing, straight to Veronica and Chrissie.

“(Y/N) ! It’s good to see you having fun !” Veronica yelled to cover the insanely loud music.

“I never felt so happy than before !” You yelled back as you swayed your hips outrageously, completely inhibited to the peoples around, the only thing that was mattering was the jolt of energy flying through your system. You were on the top of the world. “This is awesome !” You shouted as you started jumping around before bumping into a man who catch you before you ridiculously fell on the floor. “I’m so sorry” You giggled against his chest, as he shook his head with a hungry smile. Usually the type of man who disgust you but right now, you were just thrilled to have someone to share you overwhelming bolt of energy.

“No problem, doll. Wanna dance ?” He swung you around, hands falling around your waist and bringing you close to him. You closed your eyes and let the music directing your moves, grinding against the brunette. “So pretty, doll. So hot, god, I want you so badly” You smiled wider when his lips started trailing kisses on the delicate skin of your neck, teeth nibbling filthy into your lob ear, making you giggle even more.

Everything felt so good, all your problems were out of your mind and at this precise moment nothing could stop you. Well, except the upset Roger who was making his way to you, the muscles of his jaw twitching under the anger crushing him at this moment. Chrissie was next to him, pointed you with a finger, her face painted with worry.

“Roggie !” You gushed when he reached you, his hand immediately tugging you into his embrace. “I’m having so much fun tonight ! I even make a new friend !” You babbled excitedly, looking at the other man with wide and excited eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing (Y/N) ? You completely drunk, come on” The drummer grabbed your hand and the brunette you were dancing with, tried to interfere but as soon as he saw Roger’s death glare, he walked away. Smart guy.

“Hey! I was dancing with this block !” You weakly protested, the negative vibes emanating from your friend was making you frown. Why he wasn’t having fun like you ? “Rog, I want to dance” You tried to escape his grip but he didn’t budge, kept dragging you behind him like a rag doll. He brought you on the terrace of the club, the wind making you shivered surprisingly. It helped you cool down a bit but your whole body was still animated by an inexhaustible energy, your eyes couldn’t focus on one thing.

“What the fuck did you drink (Y/N) ? I didn’t saw you that drunk since, at least, two years” He took a big drag on his cigarette, looking at you with his big eyes but your gaze were on his sparkly, pink shoes, stupid giggles escaping your lips. The drummer sighed annoyingly at your state and grabbed your face, his fingers holding loosely your chin. “Why did you drink so much ? Is this because of the same reason you’re seeing a psycho–“ He knitted his brows together and took a closer look at your dilated pupils and breathed angrily : “You’re bloody high ?”

“So what ?” You teased with a grin, bopping his nose with your shaky finger. “m’ having fun. Coke is fun” You whispered with toothy smile.

“You took coke ? Are you insane ?” Roger’s eyes widened at your revelation but his upset tone made you take a step back, lips curling down in a grimace. “Why the hell did you take cocaine ? I told you to never touch that shit !”

“Are you mad at me ?” You murmured weakly as the high of energy was quickly going down. Suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore, you felt too nervous and your breathing was...weird, your body trembling as you were experienced the bad side of taking drug.

“Of course I fucking mad at you (Y/N) ! You can’t just tell drug and no tell anyone, it’s dangerous !”

“So you can have fun and take drugs with Nina but when it’s about me, you’re angry with me ? You can sniffed coke from her fucking breasts and have mind-blowing sex but as soon as I start having fun, you stop me and yelled at me !” You burbled with difficulties as your lips felt incredibly heavy to move, anger and sadness mixing together as Roger pinched his lips. “Fuck you Roger”

The blond’s gaze softened at your words, that wasn’t the reaction you were excepting but at this point, nothing really mattered anymore, you just wanted to go home and stopped fucking blinking your eyelashes like a crazy.

“I’m trying to look after you (Y/N), always” He murmured with a tired smile but the picture of him and Nina, tangled between the bed sheet was making you panting, the descent you were living was quite awful and you weren’t feeling good at all. “Where are you going ?” He watched you walked away, your arms clenching on your hand bag as you were going home, your brain completely disconnected from the reality.

“It’s not your job to look after me, I’m a big girl” The blond stretched a hand and grabbed your arm but you swatted his frame away from you, stubbornly refusing his help. “Go back to Nina Roger, she’s your girlfriend, not me. You should take care of her instead, I don’t need you” You spat and you immediately felt your heart ached at Roger’s broken features, looking more hurt than upset by yours words.

“You’re the one who didn’t want me (Y/N), don’t try to turn me into the bad guy in this story” He replied as exhaustion and sadness washed over his face.

You didn’t replied and continued your way on the pavement, walking without any idea where you were heading to but you needed to get away from him. His last sentence was played on a loop in your mind, eyes watering at the thought that he was right. You rejected him, so many time and still, he was here for you even after all you did to him. You were stupid and a perfect asshole but right now, the shame and pride weren’t simply not allowing you to turn around and go apologise to him.

You didn’t need him, right ?

tag list : @amy-brooklyn99 @mercurycrowley @vanitysfairr @loveandbeloved29 @luvborhap @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @geek-and-proud @fearless2tobeme @chlobo6 @stormtrprinstilettos @mrsmazzello @neckfruit@khaleesi2017 @rogertaylorscar @jennyggggrrr

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor fic #queen #roger taylor x you

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bunnymaknaereacts · 5 years

Text

모해 (Mohae) - 하나 (one)

Pairing: Reader x Wonho (ft. Reader’s friend x Changkyun)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fansign!AU

Warnings: Swearing, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 2k

(Anything said in Korean will be in italics. I don’t want to chance translating it wrong and people getting mad at me. I’m still learning.)

“I can not believe you talked me into this,” you said with a blush as you and your best friend stood in line outside of the concert hall where a fan meet of one of your favorite kpop groups, Monsta X, was taking place.

“What do you mean? We’ve worked so hard to get here,” she answered. You had always planned on visiting Korea. Both you and Y/F/N had been saving for over a year. You were almost fluent in the language, although Y/F/N had only studied the basics required to get around. But now that you were here, about to meet some of your favorite idols, you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“I know. It’s just... unreal.”

“Well get used to it. Fast. You don’t want to sit down and not be able to speak, especially not in front of Wonho.” She nudged you with her elbow, giving you a flirty look. You laughed. She was right. You needed to chill out.

You stood in line for another hour or two before they finally opened the doors to let people in.You and Y/F/N had been in line since 3:30/4 am so you were near the front and would be able to meet the boys fairly early in the day. You both had everything you needed for the event. Your favorite albums, yours being The Connect and Y/F/N’s being Shine Forever. Your gifts for each of the boys, Yours being handmade bracelets with each member’s first initial and Y/F/N’s being a keychain from a shop in your hometown. Your questions for the Q&A after the signing. Songs from Monsta X’s latest album, We Are Here, played over the sound system while the fans found their seats and got settled. The event space was huge, the bleachers pushed back to allow more seats on the floor. Adverts for We Are Here and the upcoming world tour hung on each wall, along with a few for other events happening later that week. Another hour went by before the doors were closed and an announcement was made that the event would be starting shortly. Y/F/N squealed excitedly next to you as you dug your albums out of your bags.

When Monsta X finally entered the room erupted in cheers from Monbebe from around the world, the loudest being the person sitting right next to you. You winced, grinning as you watched the idols find their seats, waving to their fans. When the boys sat down their managers explained how things were going to go. The fans would go up one row at a time. You got five minutes with each member. You weren’t allowed to have your phone out at the table. You could give one gift per member. When the five minutes were up, say goodbye and move on. When the signing was over there would be a two hour long Q&A. You were allowed to have snacks as long as you didn’t leave a mess behind. Photography was allowed as long as you kept using flash to a minimum.

You and Y/F/N were sitting in the fourth row from the front so you had to wait quite a while, but not too long. While you waited you discussed what you would say and how you thought they would act. Every once in a while your eyes wound scan the stage, watching the boy’s smiles as they signed someone’s album or tried on a silly hat. One time you looked when the second row of fans were meeting the boys and you could have sworn you made direct eye contact with Wonho. Of course you were too shy so you looked away quickly, your face starting to feel warm. A few minutes later though, Y/F/N is insistently poking your side.

“Yah! What? What is it?” you ask, smacking her arm away.

“Wonho is totally staring at you, jagiya.”

“What?” Your head snapped towards the stage and she was, in fact, right. While waiting for the next fan, Wonho was straight up staring at you. And the second you realized this he winked at you. Wonho, Shin Hoseok of the Monsta X, fucking winked at you! “Oh my!” You immediately looked away, the most embarrassed you have been in your entire life. You tried to avoid looking at him after that, just in case you caught his eye again. Of course it was pointless because eventually your row was up and you were standing near the stage, waiting to meet the boys. Y/F/N was in front of you, something you were only half thankful for. While she was talking to Shownu, you couldn’t help but let your eyes roam down the table. Avoiding Wonho, for obvious reasons. Eventually though five minutes were up and it was your turn to meet everyone.

Shownu, aka Hyunwoo, was exactly as you expected. A total teddy bear. He was so incredibly sweet. All you wanted to do was pinch his cheeks and hug him. And his voice was so much deeper in person, it nearly made you swoon. Minhyuk was so much fun. He was very animated. He talked kind of fast. Trying to learn as much about you as he could in those few short minutes. However last question was interrupted when Jooheon next to him did aegyo for Y/F/N.

“This one does aegyo all the time,” she said, pointing to you.

“Really?” Jooheon said, looking at you. “Can we see?” Your eyes went wide as you looked around. Half of the table was looking at you, at first. It wasn’t until you agreed and did it that you had everyone’s attention, even Changkyun at the end. You decided on your favorite, which you did all the time. That thing Wonho does where he points at his head and says ‘ang!’ Then to be extra cute you also did Jooheon’s signature ‘kkukku kkakka!’ From there you heard various sounds. From laughter to squeals of joy to clapping. People ‘aww’ing and Y/F/N groaning as she cringed. Immediately regretting everything, you hid your face in your hands, embarrassed as all hell. You didn’t dare to look at who was doing what. All you wanted to do was pull a Hyungwon and curl up into a ball on the floor. And at that moment, just to make things worse, it was time to switch members. You thanked Minhyuk, taking your album and moving on. You’d later read it to find an additional note that said, “Sorry about Joohoney. Your aegyo was great!” You sat in front of Jooheon, handing him your album while blushing furiously. “That was really good! Almost as good as me.” He smiled, his dimples making you feel a little better.

“Thank you,” you replied, secretly proud to have been complimented by the Aegyo King. He did apologize for making you embarrassed, though, which was really sweet. He also asked about your history of liking kpop. What groups you liked, who your biases were.

“What about Monsta X?” You chuckled breathlessly, nervously glancing around, your gaze landing on your answer to his question for half a second, turning away the second he looked at you. When you looked back at Jooheon he chuckled, very obviously understanding. You gave your best pleading look, begging him not to say anything, to which he thankfully nodded, handing you back your album. You prayed as you got up that Wonho wasn’t paying attention to your conversation, before finally sitting down in front of him.

“Hello, my name is Y/N,” you said politely.

“Wow! Your Korean is so good!” You laughed at his excited reaction. He was so cute, you could hardly stand it.

“Thank you.” You blushed as he smiled that smile that nearly made your heart stop. ‘It should be illegal to be this handsome,’ you thought.

“How long have you been speaking Korean?”

“Three years. I taught myself.” His jaw dropped with surprise.

“Wow! That’s awesome! I feel bad for not studying English harder now.” You laughed as he signed your album, pulling the bracelet you made for him out of your bag. The other members had loved them so far, but you were most nervous to give your bias his. Wonho looked at you curiously as you turned the bracelet over in your hand, his head tilted slightly to the side. “What’s that?” You had to remind yourself to breathe as you finally looked at him, and again when his hand lingered on yours as you handed him the bracelet.

“I-I m-made these for you guys,” you stuttered, struggling as your heartbeat raced out of control. “I added the initial to your first names to them, instead of your stage names. I hope that’s okay.” You were so nervous. He nodded, handing back your album with a smile. Your time with him was about up. Before you got up Wonho took your hands in his, staring into your eyes with the kindest expression, and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.” You were too stunned to reply so you just nodded, moving on to Hyungwon, who had a suspicious smile on his face that you immediately ignored.

Hyungwon was your bias wrecker, so it was almost as nerve wracking talking to him as it was to Wonho, but you managed better. He started off expressing his sympathies for your embarrassment that resulted from doing aegyo. Knowing how he gets doing it made you feel a little better about it. Like Minhyuk, Hyungwon tried to talk to you as much as possible, find out about you. But his questions were more current.

“How long (has this been going on. ... sorry. had to lol xD) are you staying in Korea?”

“One month. Well, actually, we’ve been here for two days already so slightly less than that.” He looked surprised at your answer, compelling you to explain that you had been dreaming of this trip for years. You wanted it to be one to remember. You talked for a few more minutes before he wished you luck. You made sure not to miss his high five before moving on to Kihyun.

Kihyun immediately apologized for Jooheon. He was another victim of aegyo, like Hyungwon, although he wasn’t always embarrassed by it. You talked about your plans for the rest of the week and he gave you recommendations on where to go. Unfortunately your five minutes with Kihyun flew by. It was a shame. Hopefully at the next fan meet you’d get to talk to him more.

Changkyun was very laid back, which you found very refreshing. It made you glad that he was the last one you were talking to. He helped you wind down from the excitement of the others. He also spoke completely in English, even though he knew how good your Korean is, which was nice of him. It was like talking to your best friend who you haven’t seen in a while. You almost cried when it was time to go back to your seat. Everyone was so nice. You wanted to stay. But others deserved to have the experience you just had, so you reluctantly got up and joined Y/F/N back in the fourth row.

The Q&A flew by pretty fast. A few random people were called on to ask the boys questions. After about half an hour they took questions from their Twitter. For the last hour they turned the radio on at a low volume and goofed around. Every once in a while you and Wonho would catch each others’ eyes at the same time, which resulted in you blushing and hiding your face when he wouldn’t look away. You knew you should worry about people noticing. There’s probably a chance you could both get in trouble if they did. But you knew this was they only time you’d get to see him so you didn’t worry about it too much.

On the way back to your hotel, you thought about the long and satisfying day you had. You already missed them, especially Wonho. Still lost in the dream, you even let yourself wonder if he missed you too.

“Aaaahhh,” Y/F/N sighed with pleasure as she collapsed on her bed. You turned away from your position at the window to yell at her.

“Yah! Don’t fall asleep yet, fool! Go take your makeup off first and change.” She sat up, rolling her eyes at you.

“I know! I was just thinking about Changkyun.”

“I bet.”

“Oh don’t pretend you weren’t just staring out at the city view longing for Wonho.” You laughed. She knew you too well. You were in the middle of taking off you own makeup when you got a text message from an unknown number on the phone you bought for while you were in Korea. Confused, you opened your messaging app, nearly dropping it when you saw who texted you.

It was Wonho.

#Monsta X #monbebe #wonho #shin hoseok #wonho x reader #monsta x fanfic #shownu #kihyun #changkyun #i.m #fanfic #fluff #romance #minhyuk #jooheon #fansign fic #i suck at tags #bunnymaknaereacts #mohae

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chungledown-bimothy · 5 years

Text

Trust Me: Chapter 6

I’m so sorry it too so long- for some reason, I just couldn’t get into Virgil’s head for this one. Thank you so much for your patience <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 5 AO3 Chapter 7

Warnings: swearing, mention of death/funerals, brief mention of homophobia (it’s as fluffy as this one’s gonna get, y’all)

Word Count: 2023

Tag List: @ccecode @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @ren-allen @ilovemygaydad @bloodropsblog @funsizedgremlin @raygelkitty @roxiefox23 @thomasthesandersengine @spookyingarbageisland @band-be-boss-blog

Thursday

Virgil stared at the empty conversation for what felt the millionth time, trying to find the right words. Fuck it. I need to just do this. Like a bandaid. I can do this.

[To:Patton]- Hey Patton, this is Virgil.

[To:Patton]- From your coffee shop the other day.

Fuck, that was bad. Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. He opened the case files he brought home to review, trying to distract himself, but gave up after about 10 minutes and started watching The Office for the fifteenth time. He was three episodes in when his phone went off.

[Patton]- Hi!! I hope this doesn't come across as pushy or anything, but do you wanna go out sometime? I'm really bad at communicating through text, and I think you're really cute

[Virgil<3]- it totally doesn't. Yeah, I'd love to meet up. What are you up to on Saturday?

[Patton]- Going to the de Young with you, hopefully? I have a membership

[Virgil<3]- That would be amazing!! I've been dying to go see the Monet exhibition.

[Patton]- Me too! I'll pick you up at noon on Saturday, then?

[Virgil<3]- Sounds great!

[Patton]- I can't wait! I guess I don't need to ask where you live lol

[Virgil<3]- haha yeah I guess not. I'll see you then :)

Virgil put his phone down and took a deep breath. Holy SHIT am I really doing this?? Patton's so cute, but I'm a mess. But it's Monet at the de Young, and Patton seems so… good. Like, too good for me. God, I'm really good fuck this up, aren't I?

[Patton]- Take a deep breath; it's gonna be great. There's absolutely no need to worry :)

… Holy fuck I'm so gay. Patton had attached a selfie with a huge smile and a thumbs-up.

Saturday

Taking a deep breath, Virgil looked in the mirror and adjusted his tie. He didn't even wear ties to work, but a date to see Monet's works in person deserved better than his everyday work attire, let alone his usual weekend outfit of a t-shirt, an old hoodie with purple plaid patches, and black jeans. He tried not to think about the last time he wore the black tie, but he couldn't shut the train of thought off fast enough.

It's raining. Of course it is. He loved the rain so much; it's only fitting it's raining when we have to say goodbye.

"He'd hate that we're all here being sad, you know. He'd say we were being lame and that he deserves something more fabulous. He'd also be pissed that I'm talking to you, not him, at an event about him, even if it is his funeral. So, Remy, you dramatic, self-absorbed ass, I'm standing in front of all of these people, and I'm gonna talk to just you.

First of all, I'm more sorry than I can say. You told me he would be willing to break his rules, and I didn't trust you. You were always right, and I hated that. If you were here, you'd tell me to shut the fuck up and say that I know I love you. I absolutely and completely love you. And that's why it kills me that I couldn't protect you. You weren't just my partner, you were my best friend, and I failed at the absolute minimum. God, Remy, you deserved so much better. I'm sorry I couldn't be better.

But fuck this melancholy shit. You told me once that you wanted to put the 'fun' in funeral. So, everybody," Virgil continued, addressing the crowd again, "as Remy said so often, 'let's cut the shit and drink'. Scandals downtown is ready and waiting for us to fuck shit up in his memory."

Coming back to the present, Virgil wiped the tear from his cheek and rolled up the sleeves of his purple dress shirt. Patton's gonna be here any minute; I need to finish getting ready.

Before he knew it, there was a knock at the door. He took a deep breath and was glad he did when he opened the door and briefly forgot how to breathe, because standing there on his doorstep was 5 feet and 7 inches of the most beauty Virgil had ever seen in one person. Patton wasn't the most conventionally attractive- whereas society as a whole prized hard lines and defined muscles, Patton was soft lines and the kindest eyes imaginable. Virgil couldn't explain why, but Patton exuded kindness and trustworthiness. He didn't realize he'd been staring until the sound of a throat clearing startled him.

"Oh, um, I was staring, huh?" Virgil asked, embarrassed.

Patton nodded, blushing. "Yeah, but I was too. You look really good."

"Thanks, you do too, but I guess you already knew that I feel that way." In his efforts to avoid eye contact, Virgil noticed the pin on Patton's shirt- simply reading 'they/them'. "Are those your pronouns?"

"Yeah, they are." Patton's posture immediately shifted- standing straighter and narrowing their eyes. "Is that a problem?"

"Not in the slightest." He smiled when Patton visibly relaxed, their megawatt smile returning in full force.

"Wonderful! Now, let's go see some art almost as beautiful as you. I'll drive." Patton winked and started walking. It took Virgil a second to remember how to breathe, let alone move, but he quickly caught up once he did. He stopped short again when he saw their car- a classic black VW Beetle in perfect condition.

"Holy shit, Patton. Your car is gorgeous."

"Oh my goodness thank you! She was my dad's."

"Like I said, it's- she's beautiful. Maintenance must be a nightmare, though. What year is she?"

"1955. Maintenance isn't that bad- my dad taught me how to keep her in shape after I came out in high school. He thought getting my hands dirty would turn me into 'a real man'."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Pat." They shrugged.

"It's no big deal. Joke's on him- I'm still queer as hell, but now I can keep this beauty in good shape. Get in! She's old, but she won't bite!" Laughing, Virgil got in the car, and they left for the museum.

"Monet was a founder of Impressionism as a counterpoint to Realism, which had been popular for about ten years before Impressionism started developing and twenty-four years before the term Impressionism was first used.

Realism grew in popularity with the rise of photography; artists wanted their works to look objectively real, and strove to remove emotion. They largely focused on the working class and depicted life as it was, without any sentimentality or heroism.

Monet never really bought into that. His early works works, though chronologically in the Realism era, were always painted with intense emotion, and he rarely painted people. He began playing with the concept that what we understand of reality is just our perception, and he was far from alone in those thoughts. Marx held that belief as well, going further and saying that all we have in our minds are ideologies, not facts or truths, and they act as filters, shaping everything we experience.

Rousseau died two centuries before the rise of Impressionism, but he summed up the philosophy well when he said 'I feel before I think'. Monet's paintings, while indistinct and 'messy' up close, evoke strong emotion only when one looks at the piece as a whole. We feel it before we get close enough to see and think about what it's really made of." Strictly speaking, Virgil didn't need to be speaking softly into Patton's ear with his hand on their waist, standing so closely behind them that he could feel the movement of their chest with each breath. Neither of them, however, would ever dream of complaining.

Patton reluctantly stepped out of Virgil's embrace and turned to look at him in awe. "That's incredible, Virgil. How do you know all that?"

"Oh, um, thanks. I really like art philosophy, and Monet is my favorite artist. I dunno, something about making order out of chaos is really calming."

"I feel the same way! Life is sorta like a puzzle, or Monet's brush strokes. Each one, taken individually, doesn't make much sense. We all feel and experience things like that, things that are confusing or sometimes even scary. But as we keep going, we find more and more pieces, and things make more and more sense. Feeling like a half-missing puzzle set is okay, as long as we remember the big picture. If any of that makes sense." Patton chuckled nervously, scratching behind his ear.

"No, it made perfect sense. What would you say the big picture is?"

"Well, I'd say it's doing as much good as possible. Whether it's big things, like being a doctor, firefighter, or teacher, like my brother, or small things, like putting a smile on someone's face with a pun or a good cup of coffee. It's our duty as people to make the world around us a better place, however we can."

"That's a really beautiful way of looking at things, Patton." Virgil gave them a small smile. He started to say more, but he was interrupted by the growling of his stomach. "Oh, shit. I was so nervous this morning, I forgot to eat. Wanna go to the cafe and get lunch? My treat, since you still haven't let me pay you back for the coffee."

"I told you, it was a gift! And don't think for a second that I didn't notice that you tipped almost triple what you would have paid if I had charged you." Their smirk was only slightly lessened by the fact that they had to tilt their head back slightly to make eye contact.

"You got me there, but I'm still buying. No, stop that- no amount of puppy dog eyes can change my mind."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying." Patton shrugged. "Alright, let's go get some food. You're already almost alarmingly skinny- if we don't get some food in you, you might disappear altogether." Patton started walking backwards towards the cafe, not breaking eye contact.

"Hey! I'm a perfectly normal weight for my height." Virgil started walking too, shaking his head.

"Which is what, 6'3? You need to eat more than the average person, not less. Skipping meals isn't good for you, kiddo."

"I know that. You're just really cute, and I got nervous," he admitted, blushing.

"Flattery will get you everywhere. Now come on, let's eat." They winked before turning around and skipping away. Virgil followed, completely smitten.

------------------------------

"Mr. Dean, a minute?" Logan called after his least favorite student. It was almost 7 pm- students on campus at this hour outside of football season was unheard of, and the last game of the season was weeks ago.

"Greetings and salutations, Mr. Reed. It's JD, though. Mr. Dean is my father." He sauntered to Logan, disdain clear on his face. Logan couldn't be sure if it was towards himself, Mr. Dean, or both.

"Yes, erm, JD, what are you doing on campus so late? Your attendance record in my class alone indicates a disinclination towards being here during school hours, let alone so late."

"That's just the thing, Mr. Reed. No one wants me to be here now."

"Ah, I see. A contrarian. It's not safe to be out here alone, however. The sun set hours ago, and there's a killer on the loose, if the news is to be believed. Come with me, I'll drive you home."

"Thanks, sir, but I'm fine. I'm a fighter, you see. Let the bastard come after me- it'll be the last mistake he ever makes."

"Save the bravado for your peers. I will not take no for an answer- if anything happened to you, it would be on my conscience. My car is in the parking lot. Go." Logan commanded.

"If you insist." He gave a mocking bow before turning away from Logan and walking to the car. If he turned back around, he would have seen a cold, malicious smile spread across his teacher's face. He didn't turn around.

#sanders sides #moxiety #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fan fiction #sanders sides fanfiction #my writing #trust me

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chwetuan · 5 years

Text

Frosty-Turned-Cupid? - Yugyeom

A/N - happy holidays everyone! we’re almost done 12 days of ficmas <3 we’re almost done 2018b oh my go-

A phone call from your mother was never good. They were rare, happening every couple of weeks to check in, maybe tell you about a cousin or two, or mention your brother -- the bare minimum, a parent’s obligation, you mused.

It was cold, as it always was this time of year. With the frost on the windows and the flutter of snow in the air, you couldn’t help but begin to feel the warmth of Christmas cheer bloom in your chest.

Well, you were beginning to get excited. Then, your mother phoned.

A large sigh escaped your lips as you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Okay, I don’t want to sound rude, but Yugyeom is an adult. I shouldn’t have to babysit him.”

“Sweetie, you’re not babysitting him. His mother is just worried. It’s his first Christmas away from home, you know.”

It had seemed that everyone around you had always looked out for Yugyeom. You don’t remember a day in your life that you had not known him, and you were certain that from the day he was born, people looked out for him. From the day he was born, right up until now, weeks after he’s left home.

“I understand that, but it doesn’t mean-“

“No one should be alone on Christmas. Not everyone is emotionally detached as you, honey.”

Her words ripped the warmth out of your chest, replacing it with a halting cold that resembled the ice on the leaves outside.

“Fine,” You breathed out, relenting. “Just send him my address.”

~~~

Toss, turn, repeat. Your mother’s words echoed in your mind until the early hours of the morning. Emotionally detached.

Were you really?

Sure, you’ve spent the last few Christmases cooped up in your apartment, miles away from home, but that didn’t mean you were detached.

Or did it?

You weren’t close to your family. In fact, you jumped at the opportunity to move far away from home. No one looked out for you in the way they looked out for Kim Yugyeom.

Mentions of Yugyeom were bringing up memories that you’d rather forget. Flashbacks of what it was like to live in his shadow. He had always been golden, the bright child, the one who made people laugh and smile. The one who made people forget what it was like to be alone. While he was golden, you were, simply you.

You weren’t special. Not particularly funny, or talented, and surely not half as golden as Yugyeom. And while he made people forget loneliness, you would rather be alone.

You didn’t have to go home for Christmas. Why would you ruin a perfectly good holiday spending it with people who hardly acknowledged you?

You turned Christmas into your own. You enjoyed days spent watching movies, baking treats, drinking eggnog, and decorating. It was your haven. And now, suddenly, you’re expected to share that with Yugyeom.

Even years after high school, you can’t bear the thought of being the person who hurts the golden child.

You weren’t detached, no, not at all.

You were just avoiding everything that reminded you of what it was like to live in someone’s shadow. In his shadow.

~~~

You remember Kim Yugyeom as a toothless six-year-old. He likes hot wheels, the color green, and greasy slices of cheese pizza. You don’t think he likes you very much; he makes it’s obvious when he pulls your hair on the playground and pushes you off the swing set in front of all your friends. Your mother thinks Yugyeom is cute, and scolds you for upsetting him.

You also remember Kim Yugyeom as an abnormally tall ten-year-old. These days, he plays Super Mario on his Nintendo, loves watching Nickelodeon, and still does not like you very much, you believe. He makes it clear when he tells his friends that your braces are ugly and when he begins to call you four eyes. Your father tells you to toughen up. That Yugyeom is just playing, and that you need to not take everything so seriously.

You remember him at thirteen years old, when he joins dance club and quickly becomes the captain. He’s into hip-hop now, and his favorite thing to do is watch YouTube and complain about his parents. He especially complains when you both move to the same middle school, and are forced to walk home together. You don’t like him very much either, and you make it obvious by telling your friends that he’s annoying and that the new transfer is a much better dancer than him. Your mother smiles and records his performance at the talent showcase, and doesn’t bother to record you when you perform with your class.

Then, at 16, things get slightly worse. Yugyeom and you don’t speak, and any contact is met with rolled eyes and scoffs, tensioned silence of childhood anger brought into the peak of your teenage years. When a rumor spreads about you getting caught sneaking cigarettes into school, Yugyeom laughs and calls you an idiot. Similarly, when a rumor spreads about you kissing three of his friends, he laughs and calls you desperate, and doesn’t bother to mention how it makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t bother to ask you if it was true, and watches as the entire class begins to call you nasty names. Your father begins to ask why you don’t hang out with Yugyeom every now and then.

At 18, when you graduate, college acceptance letters in hand, you bid your family farewell as you move to pursue the dream you’ve always had. Yugyeom takes a gap year, working at a dance studio teaching young boys and girls to move just like him, becoming an inspiration. Then, he takes another gap year, working as a backup dancer for a few different idol groups. After that, he takes another, a permanent one, working as a full-time choreographer. College for Yugyeom is out the window, but he sees opportunity in a city far from home, and that’s how he’ll end up on your doorstep, alone, three days before Christmas. Your mother calls and asks you to help Yugyeom.

~~~

Yugyeom didn’t think things would be this awkward.

Sitting at your kitchen island with a cup of hot--not ice, choco in front of him. His heart ached.

“You haven’t been home the past couple of Christmases,” He attempts conversation, eyes glancing up to your face before focusing on the swirl of chocolate before him.

Up until now, your responses have been curt. You’re trying your hardest, you swear you are, but for some reason, the cold phrases leave your mouth before your mind lets you consider otherwise. It’s hard to forget childhood anger.

But this is different. Yugyeom, in his black skinny jeans and hoodie, candy cane sticking out of his pocket, looks hurt.

Sighing, you take a few seconds to sip your drink and decide that ruining Christmas is not worth ruining Yugyeom.

“No, I try to avoid it, honestly.” A pause. Subdued surprise takes over his features-- he’s surprised that you’ve answered with something other than one-liners. “Do you miss it?”

He contemplates your question, eyes beginning to focus more time on your features than the mug in front of him. “Kind of.”

You nod, taking another sip from your drink. “I bet they miss you.”

A small laugh leaves his lips. “Maybe. But I think they might miss you too.” Another beat of silence settles between you. “More than you think,” he adds quietly.

It’s your turn to laugh, in a breathy way that makes Yugyeom’s heart flutter. The way it always has.

For some reason, after that, it’s almost seemed easy to talk to Yugyeom.

~~~

Christmas Eve is much different than the night before, and instead of sitting awkwardly in the kitchen, you and Yugyeom sit comfortably next to each other on your sofa, a space between you.

Some Christmas movie is playing, but you’re hardly paying attention as you and him catch up, sharing tidbits of information and memories from long before.

“Okay,” You start, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Do you remember my 14th birthday party?”

“You mean your terrible excuse of a dinner?” He responds, a nostalgic smile gracing his lips. “Of course, I could never forget it.”

You continue like that for a while, and for the first time, you see what its like to live alongside Yugyeom, and not in his shadow.

At 11:58, his phone goes off, alarm quietly buzzing throughout your living room. “Well, it’s almost Christmas.” He says, standing up and walking over to his backpack. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you can’t be too concerned as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes squeezing tight in tiredness.

“I guess it is.”

When he returns, there’s a box in his hand - blue wrapping paper with a silver bow. It isn’t huge, but it’s enough to make you perk up with a glint of curiosity in your eyes.

He looks the opposite of everything he’s ever represented in his life. His cheeks are tinged pink with nerves, the blush a hue of setting skies and pink champagne. He holds the box out, uncertainty masking his every action. “For you,”

You take the box, your cheeks mirroring his own. “Yugyeom..” Your voice trails off. This is new.

He plops himself down next to you, puffing his cheeks as a shy smile graces his lips. “I felt wrong not bringing anything. You let me come here, after all.” He says it all as if nothing is a big deal, as if even after all of your childhood differences, you can move forward in life with a new kind of appreciation for each other, as if, for once in your life, you’ll have feelings other than dislike for him. As if it’s no big deal.

Maybe, it isn’t

You consider saying something along the lines of “You shouldn’t have” but the words die in the back of your throat when you see the hopeful look on his face. He is golden.

So instead, you whisper a small thank you, glancing at the clock above your tv. 12:01.

“I didn’t get you anything.” You add, fiddling with the ribbon.

He laughs, a full sound with his head thrown back. “You let me into your home. You fed me. You made sure I wouldn’t have to spend my first Christmas away from home alone. You want to do more?”

You don’t respond, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as an unauthorized smile threatens to take over.

“Can I open it?”

He nods, watching you as you gently tear the paper off of the box, mindful of what could be inside.

Inside the box is something you never expected to see. There’s a picture, of you and Yugyeom. It seems to be from a few ancient Christmases ago, confirmed by the decorated tree and what is clearly your parents living room. His arm is hooked around your waist, a feeling you remember giving you butterflies at the time, as you stare into the camera. You seem to be mid-talking, hand coming up to cover your mouth. But something about the picture makes your heart clench and your stomach twist. Yugyeom isn’t looking at the camera, he’s looking at you. As if you were golden.

Yugyeom is quiet as you view the photo, anxiety settling in his nerves. He doesn’t know how to tell you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s always had a special place in his heart for you-- one he wishes you’d fill. He doesn’t tell you that back then, he thought you were the most beautiful girl, and how he couldn’t imagine you becoming as beautiful as you are now. He doesn’t know how to tell you he’s sorry-- how he’s sorry for the way he managed to rob you of your own happiness. He doesn’t know how to tell that he wished he could take back every mean thing, or how he wish he could positively deck whoever made you hurt. He doesn’t know how to tell you, so instead, he asks:

“Do you like it?”

You’re trying to battle tears, wishing, praying, and hoping that the wall of your pride will keep them in. No one has ever looked at you like that. If someone took a picture of the current moment, you’d see the exact thing. You think Yugyeom is golden, but he knows that deep down, you are too.

“Yeah,” You respond, voice soft as you place the photo off to the side. It takes a moments decision before you’re closing the space between you, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you.”

He squeezes you, and it feels as if you’re that 15-year-old girl again. “Merry Christmas,” He mumbles into your shoulder, palm coming down to rest against your back.

“Merry Christmas, Yugyeom.”

10/11

#12 days of ficmas #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 yugyeom #kim yugyeom x reader #yugyeom fic #yugyeom imagines #yugyeom drabble #yugyeom fluff #got7 fluff

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theartificialdane · 6 years

Text

Andromeda, chapter 3 (Vitan - Cassiopeia)

Thank you to everyone who has followed along so far, but most of all to @veronicasanders - Worlds best cowriter and beta!

In this Sutan takes over, Violet wants croissants, we visit Dior, goes backstage at a show, and we get a call.

Rating: E

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Sutan caught the condom wrapper with his teeth, ripping it open before dumping the plastic coating on the floor.

“Lay still,” Sutan smirked. It was the middle of the night, both of them still slightly damp from the midnight shower they had taken, Sutan getting Violet off with the showerhead, her hand around his cock, the woman shaking apart in his arms. “You’re wiggling.”

“Are you having trouble?” Violet laughed, moving slightly, the bed moving with her and Sutan groaned, his arm almost buckling as he tried to concentrate.

“Hey, I’m being serious.” Sutan looked down at Violet, a smirk playing on his lips. He was balancing over her, his weight on his arm and knees, Violet fitting perfectly underneath him if she would just stay still. “This is hard work.” God she was gorgeous. Sutan fisted his cock, the condom finally sliding on, both arms free and back of the bed. Sutan leaned down, kissing Violet, their lips meeting.

Sutan felt Violet’s hands, her slim fingers running over his chest, over his arms, touching him. “Seems like someone hasn’t been to the gym.”

“I’ve been to the gym.” It was only half a lie, Sutan still meeting with his personal trainer once a week. It was the absolute bare minimum, Sutan going three times a week when he and Violet had last dated. Sutan hated working out, but he wasn’t vapid enough to believe that he could fully escape the ruthless scrutiny of the fashion world just because he was a man.

“Just like you haven’t been smoking?” Violet smiled, and Sutan bit her neck, his teeth almost breaking skin as he groaned against her.

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You’re gonna punish me?”

Sutan pulled back, his breath caught in his throat, because he could see it in Violet’s eyes, could see it in her face, in the blush in her cheek. She wanted him to punish her. Wanted him to be in control.

“What’s your word darling?”

“Couture.”

Sutan smirked. “Good girl.”

Sutan grabbed her hip, Violet gasping, his fingers digging into her skin, laying new bruises on top of the ones already there. He pulled up, Violet rolling onto her stomach, the woman having gone completely still as he sat back on his knees, his legs holding Violet’s thighs in place.

“Tell me lovely eyes. Did you miss me spanking you?” Sutan touched Violet’s ass, his hand gently running over her cheek, the smooth, slow motion of his hand so familiar, the air electric with the energy between them, Violet thrusting back against him.

“I- I.. Please-”

/Smack/ Sutan’s hand landed perfectly, Violet’s ass jiggling with the force of the hit.

“Ah!”

/Smack, smack, smack/ Three in a row, Sutan spanked Violet with precision, continuing, the girl moaning each time, Violet’s ass growing red, her pale skin blooming with color, her entire body writhing in what Sutan had tried to understand so many times, Violet telling him that the pleasure and pain got mixed together inside of her, into a whirlpool of emotions that took her down, that drowned her.

“Tell me Violet.” Sutan leaned down, whispering in her ear. “Tell me you missed this.”

Violet whined, turning her head, her eyes closed tight, her face flush, her mouth open as she panted and nodded, a small, delicate nod. Sutan smiled, pride and joy welling up in his chest as he touched his chest to her back, his cock sliding into her, his hand in her hair, kissing Violet again and again.

“I missed you too.”

///

The bright winter sun was shining through the windows and into the hotel room, the light falling on Violet’s pale skin, Sutan tracing his fingers on her, his hands dancing over all the bruises he had left behind. He knew how much Violet enjoyed them, how she used to carry them as badges of pride, how she had even asked for them sometimes, but did she like them now? Sutan felt a slight twist in his stomach, his thought stopping as Violet stirred.

“Morning gorgeous.” Sutan smiled, Violet opening her eyes and looking at him.

“Hi...” Violet closed her eyes again, leaning into his touch, Sutan’s hand running up and down her back. “What time is it?”

“A little after 8.”

“What?!” Violet sat up, Sutan pulling back in surprise as she looked at him, her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you wake me?! I have to be at work by 9, I forgot to set my alarm, I’m gonna be late, I- Fuck!” Violet jumped out of bed, grabbing her heels from the floor where Sutan had thrown them last night. “God I can’t believe I’m this fucking stupid!”

Sutan sat up too, not really believing what he was hearing. “… What?”

“I’m gonna be late Sutan! Get your head out of your ass, not all of us can just waltz into work whenever we want, I- Urgh!” Violet pulled her hair into a bun. “What if I get fired? What if- All because I wanted, all because I- All because I couldn’t stay at home and not be a fucking slut who comes here only to, to have sex with you and- fuck!”

“Lovely eyes-“ Sutan rose, taking the blanket with him so he could wrap it around his body.

“Don’t say that.” Violet pulled her underwear on. “I can’t believe I was this careless.” Violet looked at him. “This was a mistake, I can’t-”

“Violet.” Sutan took a step forward. “You’re freaking out. Nothing happened, or-” Sutan smiled. “At least nothing that hasn't happened before. Last night was great, remember?

“It’s not about that, just-” Violet hooked her bra, twisting it around. “I never should have come, this was a mistake.”

Sutan could see that Violet was starting to really, truly freak out, her hands shaking. This had happened a few times before, Violet working herself into a frenzy, stressing herself out until she couldn’t take it anymore. He knew what was happening, knew why it was happening, but dealing with it was always different every single time. “Darling. You need to relax. We can talk about this.” Sutan took another step forward. “Darling please-”

“Don’t!” Violet held up her hand, and Sutan knew she was gone, her breath catching in her throat. “I can’t, I can’t do-, I can’t, I can’t, I-” Violet grabbed her throat, her fingers scratching her skin, her breath out of control. It reminded him so much of that night on the balcony at Raja and Raven’s wedding, Violet’s voice breaking again and again as she had tried to explain to him what was going on in her head, what was happening to her when the world closed down around her.

“Breathe.” Sutan didn’t know if it was the right move, but he had to do something. He moved into her space, taking Violet’s hand and replacing it with his own, his palm easily covering her entire throat, their foreheads touching. “Breathe Violet. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. Just breathe.”

Slowly, painfully painfully slowly, Violet’s breathing returned to normal, the woman allowing Sutan to calm her down, her pulse returning to normal, her throat no longer shaking under Sutan’s hand before he gently, oh so gently released her.

“Better now?”

Violet bit her lip and nodded. Sutan ran his thumb over her cheek, gently petting her, keeping her close.

“Can you talk?”

Violet shook her head, her words escaping her. Sutan could see she was embarrassed, and he was sure he’d feel the same too if he was in Violet’s position, but somehow, even though she had nearly just fainted, he realised that he had missed even that.

“Is there anything I can do lovely eyes?”

“Croissant.” “... What?”

“I’d like a croissant please…”

Sutan laughed in surprise. “I’m sure we can figure that out.”

///

“Yes, no- don’t worry I’ll be there in a second.” Sutan took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. I’ll be right down, okay?”

Sutan hung up, rolling his eyes. He liked his new assistant well enough, but he was getting bored with the modeling circuit. After he had fired Raven almost a year ago, it hadn’t taken long for the rest of his original Elite 6 to find other employment, Fo and Naomi getting into TV, Celia working as a stylist while Allison had started to take photos full time, her pictures shown in fashion magazines all over the world, and even Jaslene going full trophy wife. The only one he had allowed to stick around was Tatianna, the woman so hardworking he barely had to do anything most of the time since she was something extremely rare; a model with a brain and proper intellect. Sutan still had his golden touch, an uncanny ability to pick new talent out of a lineup, but even that wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

Violet was sitting on the couch, one of the hotel bathrobes on over her underwear. Violet picked at the croissant Sutan had ordered for her, a cup of tea next to her plate.

“So… Should we talk about what happen-”

“No.”

“It’s good to hear that nothing has changed.” Sutan smiled, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Violet had freaked out, she had a panic attack because of him, and he felt terrible because of it. “Talking was never really our strong suit, huh?”

“You mean talking isn’t my...” Violet pushed the plate aside puts her plate down, clearly done with her food. “Isn’t mine.”

“Don’t take all the blame darling. I could have pushed you, should maybe have pushed you-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you what?” Sutan didn’t know what he had done wrong.

“Darling, or lovely eyes or, or any of that..” Violet pulled her legs up, folding her arms around them. “It makes this feel real.”

“So me coming on your tits last night wasn’t real?”

Violet huffed. “Don’t be crass.”

“I’m just trying to understand. You don’t want to meet everyone, even though I know Raven would be beyond excited to see you, you’re acting weird, and I you won’t even allow me to comfort you.”

“Can’t you see it?”

“No. No I really can’t”

“Nothing has changed, Sutan...” Violet was tugging at the edge of the bathrobe, clearly uncomfortable.

“Nothing has changed from what?” Sutan knew he was pushing, knew he probably shouldn’t, but he needed to know what page they were on. Needed to know were they where going.

“Don’t make me say it.” Violet shot him a look of annoyance, but Sutan wasn’t backing down. Not this time.

“Nothing has changed from when you left me?”

Violet froze. “I didn’t leave you.”

“I’m pretty sure you did.” Sutan felt annoyance swell in his chest, actual genuine annoyance, the emotion so strong it surprised him. “Moving to Paris is almost the definition of leaving since I still live in the exact same apartmen-”

“I asked you if you wanted to come with me, and you said no.” Violet turned. “I didn’t leave you Sutan. You are the one who stayed behind.”

Sutan knew she was right, knew she was telling the truth. “That’s unfair.”

“Life is unfair, Sutan.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this...”

“So you’re telling me that if I asked you right now, you’d stay here? Because I’m not leaving.”

Sutan felt it like a punch to the gut, Violet’s brown eyes watching him and he felt every single moment of sorrow that had happened in the past 8 months. Every night of loneliness, everytime he had tried to drown his feelings in another girl’s body, every bottle he had emptied, every joint he had smoked, every Saturday he had stayed in, the world outside not even the slightest bit interesting when he couldn’t share it with her, couldn’t share it with his Violet. He wanted to say yes. He really did, but he couldn’t. His friends where all in New York, the ragtag group of party kids who had somehow turned into his family, his base, their company a cornerstone of who he was. New York had his mom, his mom who had never let him down, his mom who was getting older and older, who was so proud and never asked for anything unless she was forced, and then there was Raja, his Raja, his sister, his twin, his other half. They had never been without each other, never further away than a single floor, never apart from the moment they were born, not really, and nothing would be more real than leaving New York and the apartment he had lived in for the last 18 years.

“I-”

“That’s what I thought.” Violet took a sip of her tea, the silence between them so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“I’m here now?” Sutan looked at Violet, his stomach twisting with how weak it was, but Violet looked at him, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You are.” Violet allowing Sutan to hold his hand out, pulling her onto his lap, Violet settling down against his chest, hiding her face in his neck, his hand slowly running up and down her back.

///

Violet slipped into the Dior atelier, her coworkers all chatting and working at their various desks, Frida at Violet’s feet, the little dog running straight to her basket underneath Violet’s workstation, exhausted from their walk together into the office. It was a little after 10, the morning still in her body. Violet had planned on slipping out during the night, had planned to go home but it had felt so good, had felt so right that she couldn’t help but stay. Thankfully it seemed no one noticed that she was late, the couture department almost calm compared to how everything was during their Haute Couture fashion week in June. Most of Violet’s coworkers were in their late 40s or 50s, many of them with more years of experience working for Dior than she had been alive.

Violet pulled her lab coat on and sat down at her desk, a hot delicious flash of pain rushing over her body as the sensitive skin of her ass touched her chair. Violet picked up her small metal press, quickly getting back to the slow growing mountain of hand pressed silk flowers that she was making for a custom made client dress. The client was based in Dubai, and Catherine Riviére, the Dior head of couture, had picked Violet to work on it, her experience with Chad Michaels apparently making her the obvious choice to Catherine. Custom work was so different from actual design, from making the dresses that went on the runway. Custom work was about the client, about their wishes, what they wanted, what made them look good. Violet had already been to Dubai twice, but thankfully the client was flying to Paris to try the dress on, Violet not sure exactly how she’d get the delicate flowers packed up and transported on a commercial airline.

Sutan had made her a promise, an offer. ‘I’m here now.’ And maybe he was, but was that enough?

Violet bit her lip, her hands almost working on their own as each delicate little flower came into existence, florals still her absolute favorite to work with, no matter what shape it took.

Violet heard a small ding, her phone going off in her bag.

TEXT: Can I see you tonight?

///

“So how are you feeling?”

“Like I’m about to vom.”

“Let’s focus on keeping that inside.” Sutan sat down, Abigail Cowen looking like a ghost, which was almost an accomplishment in itself. The redhead was gorgeous, her copper hair styled in soft waves, her grey eyes stunning with the coal that had been put on her lash line. She was the opening girl for Givenchy, and the newest talent at Elite, the girl given to Sutan in the spring. “Take a deep breath, okay?” They were backstage at the show, everything about to start in under an hour, Abigail sitting to the side, the entire thing more like a beehive than a workplace for humans, everyone rushing around going from here to there and back again with everything that was needed for the show to go off without a hitch.

“Mmh..”

“Did you remember to have breakfast?”

Abigail shook her head. “I was scared the dress wouldn’t fit.” Abigail sounded almost embarrassed.

“I’ll get you a banana. You have to eat, even when you’re nervous.” She was just 18, and Sutan was pretty sure that was exactly why she had been given to him, Sutan holding his hand over her for all of New York and London, Milano a week where he had booked her for very few shows on purpose.

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.” Sutan smiled. “Now relax, I’m here for you Abbie, and I know you’ll do amazingly.” Sutan reached out, pretending to touch Abigail’s hair, the girl laughing and moving away, batting at his arm.

“Hey!”

“That’s the attitude.”

Sutan got up, ready to find some food for the girl and get a smoke, when he felt his phone vibrate in this pocket.

///

Sutan knew he should probably not have taken the number from Violet’s phone, but if she hadn’t changed her password from when they were still together, was he really to blame?

TEXT: Who’s this?

TEXT: A tall handsome stranger

TEXT: I’m afraid I don’t know any tall handsome strangers.

TEXT: Ouch.

TEXT: Kidding. I know it’s you. You could have asked for my number Sutan. I would have given it to you.

TEXT: Sutan who?

TEXT: Ha ha, very funny. I recognize the number.

TEXT: So are you?

TEXT: What?

TEXT: Free tonight.

TEXT: Depends.

TEXT: Depends on what?

TEXT: What we’re doing.

TEXT: I have an idea.

///

[Where are you?]

[I’m working.] From outside the tiny Chinese restaurant, Sutan looked at Violet giving the tiny cashier their order. His phone against his ear.

[Is that what you call fucking some bimbo?]

[I’m 43, Raja, I don’t fuck bimbos.]

[I know you asshole. You never act like this unless there’s a girl involved. Are you finally getting over Violet?] Sutan had felt unsure when he suggested the date to Violet, a night in with Chinese food and movies on his laptop, but somehow, Violet had said yes right away and Sutan’s hunch had been right. If it had been anyone else, he’d have tried to impress them, take them to a party, show them around and buy them expensive champagne, but somehow, somehow he knew that wasn’t what Violet wanted from him this time around, and he wasn’t sure if it was ever what she had wanted, or just what he had given her because he thought she expected it.

[It’s not what you think...]

[Maybe I’d know what to think if you showed up for dinner. You’re the only one missing! Raven is starving and I’m not going to risk my very pregnant wife eating me.]

[Eat you? Like that would sate her hunger.] Sutan took another drag of his cigarette, Frida sitting at his feet. He and Violet had gone for a walk in a park near Violet’s place, Frida with them, the little dog yipping at all the snow, so Violet had carried her the rest of the way. [You’re barely an appetizer my dear sister.]

[Are you going to be an idiot, or are you going to show up?] Sutan winced. He had told his assistant to cancel his plans, but of course she hadn’t known about the dinner with his sister.

[You’re the one who brought Raven, not me.]

[Like anything could keep her away from Paris when she gets to show off and make everyone forget you fucking fired her.]

Sutan sighed, pinching his nose. [Raj, please, that almost a year ago.]

[It was, and I’m still mad about it.]

[You know I had to. Bianca firing her and the boobjob was just the final nail in the coffin.] They had had this argument so many times Sutan knew it like the back of his hand. He had fired Raven right before her and Raja’s honeymoon, his sister in law simply not fitting the mold of what he needed from his models anymore, and Sutan wasn’t going to damage his brand for anyone, even Raven. He was known as someone with quality girls who were the best in the business, and Raven was not one of them anymore. She had trashed his office, Sutan fully expecting it, his most expensive things hidden away before Raven even showed up. He knew it was a shitty move, but he did what he had to do, and he knew that at the end of the day Raja knew that as well. It was why they where were they where today. A willingness to pay the price for staying on top.

[If you weren’t the father of my babies, I’d kill you.]

Sutan snorted.

[I’m not the father, and I’ll never be their father.]

Sutan smiled a little, Raja only calling the twins growing in Raven’s body his when she wanted to manipulate him. Sutan had known for years that there was a possibility that he would one day be a donor to Raja’s kid, his sister coming to him almost on the day she came out as a lesbian, telling him that she wanted to be a mom someday, asking him to donate his seed, the decision taking him less than a second to make. Raja was his other half, his sister, his soulmate, and if there was anything he could do for her or give her, he’d do it. Even if going in every five years to leave his swimmers in a plastic cup and a life in a freezer had felt a little weird.

Raven and Raja had announced the pregnancy on Instagram, Raven’s account blowing up while Raja had somehow been invited on several morning talk shows, the fact that a lesbian in her 40s was becoming a mom apparently a big deal. Detox had done what Detox did best, gleefully publishing everything he could about the pregnancy in his magazine, dressing it up as public service and keeping the rumours at bay, when in reality he was just making bank on gossip as he had always done. Detox, Juju and the kids then took a family vacation to Hawaii after Juju had yelled at him for the better part of Fame’s annual rooftop cocktail party.

[Sorry I’m not going to make it to dinner Putri.] Sutan stubbed his cigarette. [It’s fine.] Raja sighed. [I better get back to my baby before she starts crying.]

[Pregnancy sounds like a joy.]

Sutan could hear the smile in Rajas voice, his sister often pretending like this was a hardship, like she was suffering, but he knew she was the happiest she had ever been, this chance to make a family. [It’s fantastic.]

Sutan hung up, Violet walking out of the shop at the exact same time, the girl carrying two big bags of Chinese food. Sutan knew French, of course he did, he worked in fashion and even more he worked as an agent, but Violet was actually fluent while Sutan could only take about clothes, travel logistics and do very basic party banter.

“Did you get everything?”

“Mmh.” Violet smiled, opening the bag for inspection. “I even got your stupid hot and sour sauce.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s culinary perfection.”

“Of course.” Violet rolled her eyes, and Sutan laughed, holding out his arm, Violet taking it, the two of them looking for the nearest corner shop to buy a bottle of wine or two.

#galactica #andromeda #paris au #my fics

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nekumiko · 6 years

Text

Colors

Fandom: Daiya no Ace

Genre: Romance

Rated: T

Words: 3, 711

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: She’s fascinated with his hair. Just his hair. But Ryousuke finds it invasive, and of course he won’t let her off that easily.

Chapter Five: Truce

The first color that registers is red.

She sees it – or rather, realizes it's what her eyes had caught before he ran away – on Kominato Ryousuke's cheeks.

She feels it on her own ones.

Hence, watching practice the next day has become awkward.

It's not new for him to notice her there – it is the very matter of their banters, after all. But Kominato never looks back a second time. Until today.

Each time she would calm down, he would glance at her, and red would just creep back up to the tips of her ears.

Once, he holds her gaze for a few seconds too long before hitting very cleanly each baseball thrown at him. If this is like those cliché scenarios in books and movies, is it supposed to mean that he had performed well for her? Because she swears he had on the faintest hint of a smile. Does he think this is some kind of fun joke?

Aya takes a deep breath. Reminds herself that she has to get through this. She needs to get back to the Art Club, plus she would get paid for this. It's all for a good cause.

Promising him a week minimum is a good call, for the pre-summer training camp had started that Friday. The usual before- and after-school practices would not only intensify, but also extend until evening. She wouldn't want to disturb him at such a busy time (she's just guilty of letting two days pass idly by). And since the players would practically be living in the field for a week, it's the perfect time to gather inspiration. For right on the camp's first morning practice, Aya would be blessed with her most-awaited sight.

The pink-haired brothers are at batting practice together! With Haruichi getting promoted to first-string (which Miyuki had not-so-subtly told her the day after the announcement, with Kuramochi overhearing then making a fuss over her being a player), he has now received the right to be on the same field as his brother. And he definitely does not disappoint at how easily he could keep up with the third-year in catching and throwing. Their movements could even be described as identical.

For now. Training camp, as what Aya had witnessed last year, would be hell as it progresses.

But for now, she is swelling up with pride. Inevitably, her eyes trail over to the older brother.

As the players wait for the next cart of baseballs to be rolled over to the one batting for them, Kominato Ryousuke pauses to regard the unsuspecting first-year with a small smile.

Happiness for her junior who is step-by-step achieving his dream of getting acknowledged by his idol, and, she has to admit, happiness because she's sharing the same emotions at the exact same moment as the senior, makes her flush red. Or maybe because the sun had already risen high enough to shine on her sensitive skin now.

Or maybe because a shortstop named Kuramochi, standing near the Kominatos competing for the second baseman position, is now eyeing her with a knowing grin.

Aya could only groan.

The next problem to being uninspired is not knowing exactly what she'd draw. The scenes from practices and games that she draws have always been limited by the distance between her spot outside the fence and her subjects positioned in the diamond within a large field. The main reason why she draws Kominato with his eyes closed. She knows they aren't, but that's just how he usually appears in her perspective.

So that leaves her with the only clear image she has of his eyes.

And that would lead her to recall every single detail of how she came to see them, and most especially the moment itself where there had been mere three-ish inches between them – small beads of sweat remaining unwiped from the side of his face, their intermingling breaths, his boyish scent, his dry lips, and lastly, the piercing gaze of his black irises. Such details would, in a way, make it her first intimate drawing.

What a great thing to think about right in the middle of the cafeteria line.

And Aya almost gets a heart attack when she looks up and sees pink hair right in front of her. Almost. She's now good enough to recognize the stark difference in their haircuts from behind. Breathing a sigh of relief, she taps his shoulder. "Haruichi~"

Haruichi looks back over his shoulder and instantly brightens up. "Oh, Aya-san!"

"Long time, no see!" Aya grins, stopping herself from adding, what with all that bangs blocking your eyes.

"Yeah." Haruichi scratches the back of his head. "It's been pretty hectic."

"Don't worry about it. You got to first-string, so it's not without reward!"

Red colors his cheeks. "That's a pretty harsh way to put it."

She pauses. Pink and red is a combination she'd stuck on Haruichi, but had never imagined seeing on his brother. Could the genes that gave them unique hair (and a sad height) also be responsible for them both to blush... cutely? But what startles Aya is that she might be the only one who knows that. She gives her best reassuring smile. "But you've got to admit that it's an achievement. So, congratulations!"

Haruichi chuckles. "Thank you, Aya-san." He picks up a tray from the stack.

Aya gets a piece of milk bread. She's too distracted these days to cook lunch for herself and Miyuki. "Has your brother said anything?"

Haruichi softly sighs and shakes his head as he continues to fill his tray. Even cute little boys have big appetites, it seems. "He had never once even looked me in the eyes."

Aya sucks in a breath. Hold it in, Aya. Stop making jokes about these brothers' eyes! "Really? Not even a single 'congratulations?'"

"Maybe he doesn't think I'm ready for first-string yet."

Aya's head snaps towards him to say something along the lines of, 'Are you serious? You're already there! In fact, he's—'

But that train of thought cuts off as she sees Haruichi with a determined expression, as if his brother's indifference is what ultimately fuels him.

She hums in thought. Maybe it might be more fulfilling for him to slowly discover that his brother has already been impressed. "I'm sure he wouldn't have told you to go to Seidou without knowing you'd get into first-string, won't he?"

"Aniki… actually didn't. At least, not directly."

"I don't get it."

"He told me not to follow him." Haruichi smiles at the memory. "But when I walked with him to the station the next day, he told me to go to whichever school I'd like."

Hold up. "…Is he always like that? Saying things in the harshest way possible, but actually means the opposite?"

He grins. "You must be good friends with Aniki if you're able to say that about him."

She only laughs uneasily. With a final wish for good luck, Aya excuses herself to allow her a few moments of contemplative silence.

If Kominato Ryousuke is some kind of tsundere, and his brother, who has been living with the guy for most of his life, agrees to it, then what would all those times the third-year had told her to stop "stalking" him actually mean? Is he just someone who gets flustered when people follow him, and therefore copes with it by being mean?

That's just… endearing.

Maybe Aya is twisted. Must run in the blood.

But why do people follow him in the first place?

Being friends with Kuramochi, one-half of the Keystone Combo, has Aya well aware of how harsh his senior had been on him before. But that seemed to have been the push for Kuramochi to work hard, making him one of the best middle infielders in the area alongside the older Kominato, his now-close friend.

And she's seeing a repeating pattern between the brothers, the younger of which now sporting a dirtied white uniform as he not only struggles to breathe, but also struggles to even catch a ball. Meanwhile, the older still manages to stand straight, with just a few specks of dirt here and there in his clothes.

It's only been the third day of camp (Tuesday of the following week, as the players are fortunate this year to be given a whole weekend of rest after the first day of tasting hell).

It's too bad that Aya's too far from them to hear their conversation – she also confirms that they really don't face each other when they talk – but in retrospect, it wouldn't be wrong to assume that he just said something harsh. But as she had now expected, Haruichi stands up and continues to practice with more motivation.

Kominato Ryousuke exudes an aura that makes people want to impress him the more he… well, 'bullies' them. Reverse psychology, is that what you call it? Because it all boils down to respect for how great of a player he is.

Personally, she could attest to that. For Aya is not just here for the aesthetic. The way he plays has also reeled her in.

Yet the full extent of his talent and efforts, which provide a different light to his taunts, could only be seen by his teammates.

Apparently, the fifth day of camp's after-school batting practice would change that.

Coach Kataoka walks over with his own bat, immediately hushing the whole field. "I'm batting," he announces.

The seniors (only, because Kuramochi, a sophomore, is horrified) seem to glow with excitement.

Coach points his bat at them. "First-year Kominato, get off the field!" he commands. "Everyone else, I hope you're ready!"

Haruichi, crouching with his hands on both knees as an attempt to catch his breath, takes one last look at his brother before he walks off.

"Let's go nonstop!" the coach shouts, to which the starters (minus Miyuki and Tanba presumably at the bullpen) answer with an affirmative roar.

From 4'o clock in the afternoon, the constant sound everyone hears is the Coach's bat hitting baseballs at a frightening speed. And because he is against Seidou's current cream of the crop, each baseball is caught and thrown back just in time for the next one to zoom through the diamond.

Alas, even these "monsters" have a limit.

"What's wrong?" the Coach shouts. "You're getting quiet!"

The seven fielders' fatigue from the past five days of camp has finally caught up to them, and being in the dark doesn't help one bit.

Dark? Aya looks around. Following Miyuki's strict advice from last year's camp, she had never stayed to watch evening practice. But how could anyone go home right in the middle of this?

The first-years finally remember to turn on the field's lights, illuminating most of the starters on their knees. But the two seniors infamous for being terror figures to the juniors remain barely standing.

Centerfielder Isashiki Jun weakly begs for another round.

"I can't hear you! Where's your usual attitude, Isashiki?" Coach bellows before sending the ball his way, but he misses and instead tumbles on the ground in the process, ending up curled in pain.

"Who taught you to catch like that?"

The next baseball is sent straight down the field again within the second baseman's range. Kominato Ryousuke misses.

"Where's that smirk of yours, Kominato?"

Kominato falls to his knees, curled up and coughing.

And Aya's heart is torn between breaking from the sight and pounding with newfound, if not strengthened, admiration.

Missing out on Kominato's beginning year in the team means she only got to witness his already-perfected plays. Though she knows that he had worked hard to achieve that – for everyone always has to start from scratch – it is overwhelming to see first-hand the red-hot passion he has for the sport. His skills are above others and he knows it, but he doesn't use that confidence to brag. He pushes his peers' buttons to provoke them into working past their limits like he does, or in certain people's cases, into working harder to surpass him.

But as Aya looks at his just-inked portrait on her desk later that night, she realizes something: she isn't his teammate, so why does he have to be harsh on her? If she then likens Haruichi's story of his brother's turnaround to that late afternoon Kominato Ryousuke suddenly expressed interest in her drawings and then commissioned her to draw him of all people, despite expressing 'disgust' over her hobby for the past year…

Is he just a guy embarrassed over the amount of attention a girl has been pouring on him?

Her cousin would know what to say. To an extent, outsiders could see things clearer. Plus, his position requires him to know every player, even in the tad bit personal category. But remembering how she had barely escaped his scolding earlier when he spotted her still at evening practice, she puts her phone down. She'd deal with that tomorrow. Although if Aya tells him that watching until late had triggered his ship to at last gain ground, maybe she could get away?

Wait, what?

Is that it? Is she really… crushing on the second baseman after all? Why else would she insist on making him her muse despite being told off? It seems like she herself had fallen for that charm. Why does she feel lonely whenever she remembers he'll disappear from her life come March next year? She even considers stopping this "foolishness" called art once she loses her only muse, because she knows no one else could replace him.

Makoto Aya is stubborn, but she's not one to deny truths. (Well, technically, she'd been in denial for a year, but at least she came through, right?) She's got it bad.

Training camp takes away every last bit of the players' free time, leaving only enough for eating and sleeping. Despite her earlier decision to wait it out, here she is outside Field A, a brown envelope in hand.

Aya had stayed up late to finish the commission, as well as to sort out her feelings, so she woke up well after morning practice began. It'd be disrespectful to call him in the middle of practice, so her next chance would be before afternoon practice starts. But then the whole team – not just the starters and managers who had all apparently caught on to her infatuation ever since – would see them. Shameless as she is, she wouldn't want that to happen. Approaching him at lunchtime wouldn't do, either, for Kominato always hangs out with his classmates, Jun-san and Masuko.

The only option left is to ask someone to relay a message to him. But who? Miyuki is automatically crossed off the list. Kuramochi would be the best bet. Or even the second-year managers, Yui and Sachiko, for female support. Yet while she's sure that they won't blab about this, they would also never let her live it down. Haruichi wouldn't have the heart to tease her, but considering his circumstances with his brother right now, Aya doubts they talk outside the field.

Damn, she really needs more friends.

"Makoto-san?" a melodic voice calls.

Aya looks up at the only third-year manager. "Takako-senpai!"

"Morning practice is over. You should go on ahead, or else you'd be late for first period." She gives the brunette a meaningful smile. "Or are you waiting for someone?"

The managers may tease her about the pink-haired senior, but Fujiwara Takako, Aya realizes, could be mature enough for this kind of favor. "Actually, I was waiting for you, senpai."

"Really?" She leans closer to whisper, "Are commissions open again?"

Aya inwardly smirks. Perfect. She is also one of her regular clients (although, her orders are all sworn to secrecy, for it wouldn't be good to seem like she's playing favorites). "Yes! And I'd be willing to prioritize your next request if… well, you'd do me a little favor?"

"Ah, you don't need to do that. I'd do anything for my sweet underclassman."

"Pfft, after I just kind of blackmailed you?"

Click.

At lunchtime, the door to the rooftop opens to reveal Kominato Ryousuke.

Aya stands up from one of the benches. "Over here, Kominato-san!"

He closes the door behind him and crosses the short distance between them, stopping at arm's length. The smirk that Aya had expected is missing. "Hello," he starts in a barely-steady voice. He clears his throat. "I was told you want to meet me up here."

She nods, and then holds up the envelope in between them. "I thought you might need some cheering up in the middle of the exhausting camp." As the third-year takes it from her, she adds, "I mean, assuming you'd like it."

Kominato opens the envelope and slides the paper out. The first thing anyone would notice is the trademark pink in her drawings of him, the color covering most of the top half of this one. As promised, his small eyes are not just mere two slanted lines anymore. Normally, it would have been intimidating, but the girl had drawn on slightly-parted lips to soften his expression into a curious one. "Wow," he can't help but whisper.

Aya stops fidgeting with the sleeves of her gray sweater. "Hm? Do you like it?"

He nods. "Yes. I… I didn't think it'd be better to hold one of your drawings up close."

Her eyes widen. "Better?" she repeats. "That would mean you already think my drawings are good."

"I do." And there it is. Aya's eyes are graced for the second time with a red-cheeked Kominato Ryousuke. "I was actually hoping I could talk to you about it if I ask for a commission. I know I've been a jerk. I'm sorry. I didn't really mean all that."

"Oh, so that's what it is…" She crosses her arms. "But you really required me to do more work just for that, huh?"

Kominato purses his lips. "I'm sorry for that, too."

Aya blinks. Pinches herself. Gets hurt. "You're serious."

He nods. "I promise I won't say such things again."

She smiles. "Well, if you're really sincere about it, and since I could get back to the Art Club because of you, then okay, I forgive you."

He sighs in relief and smiles back.

Scrambling to control the sudden staccato of her heartbeats, she says, "I was right, though, that you are a tsun."

His smile vanishes. "I am not."

"Oh yes, you are." She giggles, then pauses to look away. "It's cute, don't worry."

Kominato's sharp intake of breath could be heard clearly.

But before he could say something, Aya continues, "I wasn't planning on going through with it, but you went ahead and redeemed yourself."

"I don't get it."

"Uh, I think you could figure it out from the cliché setting by now."

"I wouldn't want to assume."

She gulps. "You see, I can completely understand why you're creeped out by me. I'm sorry for that. But I've only recently realized why I'm so persistent, and it's because I actually really like you."

There is silence as red spreads all over the senior's face. It reminds Aya of his brother, but it wouldn't be appropriate to mention another guy right now, wouldn't it?

She gives a nervous smile. "Yeah, so that's that. I'll see you around."

"Wait!"

Aya, already turning to collect her things from the bench, completely stops. He'd just raised his voice with her for the first time, and now she's even more startled. "Huh? What?"

"My answer is 'okay.'"

"...What?"

"What?"

"What do you mean by 'okay?'"

He takes a step forward. "'Okay, let's date.'"

"Why would we be dating?"

Kominato stops. "Huh?"

"I just told you that I like you. But you didn't even tell me if you like me back."

He frowns slightly. "Of course I like you too."

"'Of course?' How would I know that, senpai? You've been nothing but harsh on me. Oh, is that how you flirt with someone?"

"I—"

"And okay, let's say that's just your true nature: a tsundere. But then, why should we date just because we like each other? If you want us to be in a relationship, shouldn't you ask?"

"You're..." Kominato trails off to take a deep breath. "Fine." His frown deepens in thought, then he reaches out and takes one of her hands in his, once again getting close enough to look her straight in the eyes. "Makoto-san, would you like to be my girlfriend?"

She stares at him agape, before squeezing her eyes shut as she feels her face heat up and rival the shade of red he'd sported earlier. "Yes."

Their noses touch. "Then, may I—"

"Hey, I almost forgot!" Aya steps back, dropping his hand to hold her palm up. "Now, if you please." At the senior's confused frown, she says, "It's a commission, Kominato-san. You have to pay for it. And nope, being my boyfriend doesn't mean you're off the hook."

"...I understand." He fishes through his pants pocket for his wallet. He then places two 500-yen and two 100-yen coins on her still-outstretched hand.

Aya's hand immediately closes around the money and pockets it. "Pleasure doing business with you~"

"That's what's left of my lunch money this week." Kominato smirks. "You're a bit mean yourself."

"Then I guess we're meant for each other, huh?" She smirks back. "But you can't fool me. The whole team is loaded because you guys don't have time to go out anymore."

He deadpans, but the smirk finds its way back on his face a second later. "Well, I would have to now that I've got you, right?"

She laughs. "Nah, you've got Nationals to focus on first. Now," she sits back down on the bench and pats the space beside her lunch bag, "don't worry about lunch. I've cooked extra today."

As he takes the offer, he asks, "So does this count as first date?"

She freezes. "N-no. I would've given you these even if you didn't ask me out. It's still part of cheering you up."

As a reply, he softly says, "But you've always had, you know."

Kominato Ryousuke may have stopped tormenting her with insults, but he had definitely found a new way to kill her.

Previous: Trigger

Next: Ryousuke and Aya

#kominato ryousuke x oc #ryousuke x oc #kominato ryousuke #kominato haruichi #diamond no ace #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #ace of diamond fanfiction #diamond no ace fanfiction #nekumiko

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cheshiresense · 6 years

Text

What if: the Gotei 13 offers Ichigo the creation and captaincy of the Fourteenth Division?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Pinglist: @queen-sands

It takes Kisuke a full seventy-two hours to finish plastering all of District 78 with seals powerful enough to knock a herd of evil rampaging elephants off their feet but that’s just the first layer. He doesn’t have that much reiatsu to expend continuously though, which means he needs a break.

Ichigo of course is still working. The gods forbid he retains the stamina of even just your average Shinigami captain.

He ends up collapsing into one of the camping chairs Ichigo must’ve brought while Kisuke was busy elsewhere. They’re set up at the edge of what will one day be their headquarters, and there’s water and some snacks waiting for him as well, which he dives into gratefully. The spot also gives Kisuke a nice view of Ichigo carting charred debris and rubble to a few separate dumpsters stationed in front of an open Garganta. A few well-aimed Getsuga Tenshous from earlier reduced the remaining buildings to heaps of splintered wood and stone, which helps fit them into each metal container more easily.

Kisuke spares a moment to admire the amount of control Ichigo’s gained in only a few short years once he put his mind to it. The Garganta holds steady even when Ichigo Shunpos from one side of the area to the other, and even three days in, he easily lifts a piece of cement wall like it weighs nothing. He’s shrugged out of the top half of his Shihakushou, letting it pool around his waist, and while he’s sweating and his muscles flex every time he gathers up a new load, there’s not a speck of strain anywhere in the fluidity of his movements.

He’s staring, Kisuke realizes ruefully, and gives himself a mental slap while reciting a mantra he put together a good few years ago - young, former student, screwed over his soul, used him as a weapon, young.

Rinse and repeat until it sticks.

He sighs and tosses his hat onto the foldable table beside him before leaning back and putting up his feet. There’s a stack of files on the table so he picks those up to distract himself. The paperwork is familiar, giving him flashbacks to those captain days he certainly doesn’t miss, and it makes him smirk-- he wonders if Kyouraku would take his bet for how long it will take Ichigo to set his paperwork on fire.

There’s a pen and a slip of paper with Ichigo’s rushed scrawl tucked in the first folder, on which he’s already marked down the end figures for everything he’s had to pay for so far. Thankfully not much yet, but it’s good that he’s keeping track. Kisuke remembers the first time Yoruichi dumped the Second Division’s entire monthly budget on him and he made the mistake of putting it off for later - that was a mess and a half to untangle, and it got him in trouble with Yoruichi, the Ninth, and the Soutaichou-- never mind that it wasn’t even supposed to be his job to begin with. But it taught him the importance of keeping accounts and being mindful of any outgoing expenses, especially when it became clear Yoruichi wasn’t going to stop foisting the management of their finances off on him, so he’s glad to see Ichigo hasn’t neglected it so far even if it might not seem particularly essential just yet.

...Then again, Ichigo did more or less raise his sisters since their mother passed. Quite possibly, he learned the importance of savings and proper budgeting a long time ago.

Kisuke shuffles that file to the bottom. He lingers briefly on the outline of the partially drawn Fourteenth Division insignia before moving past that too. He spends just enough time on the folder of blank profiles to fill one out for himself and another for Ichigo, mostly basic information that the Gotei already has and a bit more that they don’t but never more than the bare minimum. He makes a note to advise Ichigo to ensure the same for the rest of their squad.

There’s a couple more blank pages, and after a moment, Kisuke takes one and begins sketching out a rough idea of some building plans for their headquarters. Administrative building, captain’s office at the top, lieutenant’s right across, senior seated complement’s scattered a floor below. Private quarters for each. A few communal areas, more offices on the ground floor, front desk off to the side, never directly in view of everyone and their dog coming in through the front doors but with a perfect line of sight for anyone manning the desk to carry out a surprise attack should someone uninvited attempt to sneak in.

Barracks, big enough to accommodate a full-sized squad even though Kisuke is fairly certain they won’t have anywhere near that many people anytime soon. Training grounds, more than one. After a moment of deliberation, Kisuke leaves the farthest right area - past where the future barracks would be - blank. He thinks Ichigo might’ve already had the same idea so he should leave some space for it.

There’s forest area all along the back. Kisuke marks that down for where he wants his promised labs to be. A Senkaimon connecting them to his office will have to be anchored in place, perhaps in a separate (hidden) room on the top floor of the admin building. It’s technically illegal but it isn’t as if Ichigo will care.

That’s more or less all the basic requirements for a Division’s headquarters. Even the labs aren’t strictly necessary but Ichigo was right-- Kisuke might actually go into withdrawal or at least blow something up if he’s no longer allowed his own projects to play with.

But other more personal touches can be added at a later time. Maybe separate apartments-- Ichigo will probably want his own place outside of the barracks or the office’s adjoining bedroom, and Kisuke will too. And tunnels of course. Underground safe rooms. Underground workspace and training grounds. Underground everything, in case of a siege and the enemy actually manages to breach the walls. Speaking from experience, Kisuke does not think he is overreacting. It isn’t paranoia when your very existence is about to make some very powerful people very angry and very scared. Besides, Second Division headquarters is similarly outfitted and they’ve never been accused of treason or threatened with execution.

He sets the blueprints aside for now. They’re only a first draft, and Ichigo will want to add his own input.

He glances up again at the sound of approaching footsteps, then reaches down to retrieve one of the bottles of water and tosses it to Ichigo. “Are you finally taking a break?”

“Not all of us have ancient bones to rest,” Ichigo retorts around a grin before guzzling down half the bottle and then dumping the rest over his head. Kisuke very firmly keeps his eyes on Ichigo’s face and no lower, which isn’t exactly a hardship but… well, there’s a lot of bare skin on display.

“You’re finished with the seals?” Ichigo asks, looking around, eyes going half-mast and distant in a way that means he’s feeling for the wards.

“Only the first layer,” Kisuke sighs, levering his legs off the footrest and back onto flat ground. “I’ll need more time to build up all the defenses to an acceptable level, and that isn’t even getting into the seals that can’t be tied in until at least the walls of our compound have been built.”

“...They’re really strong already,” Ichigo murmurs after a moment, blinking back into the present. The look he aims at Kisuke next is full of a genuine sort of admiration that makes Kisuke want to preen and blush and bask in it all at the same time. “You’re kind of amazing, Kisuke.”

Kisuke clears his throat and busies himself with stacking the files onto the table again. “My Kidou skills should hardly come as a surprise to you anymore, Ichigo, or did you forget how I won our last… oh, twenty spars?”

“Shut up,” Ichigo huffs, moving to flop into the other chair. “Hadou and Bakudou are different than this stuff. I don’t see it as much. I don’t think most people even know how to do it.”

Kisuke allows himself a moment of smug pride. “Well, you’ll be seeing plenty of it from now on. But I do need some rest before I get started on the next layer.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ichigo agrees more seriously this time and waves a dismissive hand. “We’re not in that much of a rush. If anybody does come to try and stop us this early on, it’s not like they’ll be able to get the drop on either of us.”

True enough. It’s when Ichigo begins bringing in other people - possibly civilians - that they’ll have to worry. But for now…

“Then,” Kisuke continues, catching Ichigo’s eye even as he reaches for his discarded hat. “If you don’t need me for anything else right this moment, I have some business to wrap up elsewhere. I should be back by the end of the day at the latest.”

Ichigo looks curious but he doesn’t ask, shrugging instead and digging into the bag of snacks he brought. “Sure. I did drag you out here pretty suddenly.” His expression slants into something more concerned. “Just make sure you actually catch a nap or something too, okay? If you collapse on me, I’m gonna hold it over your head forever.”

Kisuke smirks even as he puts his hat back on and stands. “With the number of times you’ve fainted into my arms after a fight-”

“I did not faint!”

“-I don’t believe I’ll have anything to worry about.”

He catches the empty bottle Ichigo hurls at him and throws it back, still smirking. “A Garganta to my shop, if you please, Ichigo.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes but snaps a portal open for him all the same. “Get outta here. Don’t start the end of the world or something while you’re gone.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Kisuke says dryly before stepping through, the mouth of it closing behind him. He has more than enough reiatsu still to forge a simple path under his feet, and the single tunnel of invisible turbulence guides him through the darkness. It only takes a few minutes of travel before the tunnel ends and the Garganta opens again to reveal the foyer of his shop.

Ichigo really has gotten very proficient with this kind of transportation.

The place is empty, not that Kisuke expected anything else. Tessai should still be visiting with some old friends, and Yoruichi hasn’t come by in months. The kids… Actually, Kisuke should probably stop calling them that. They finally grew enough to demand to go to college a few years back when Karin and Yuzu graduated high school, despite the fact that Kisuke could’ve easily downloaded information on pretty much any subject they would’ve wanted to know about into their internal databases. But they insisted, and last Kisuke heard, they were doing well in Todai.

He makes his way to the kitchen, picking up the portable phone on the way before putting the kettle on. He sets the phone on the counter, turns on the speakerphone, and starts rummaging for the tea as he waits for the call to connect.

“Kisuke?”

“Yoruichi-san,” Kisuke greets airily. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

He automatically tunes out the next three and a half minutes of Yoruichi recounting her latest exploits with Sui-Feng. It’s probably terribly petty of him but Kisuke’s never been particularly interested in the zealous mess that was Sui-Feng catering to Yoruichi’s whims, no matter how funny Yoruichi thinks it is.

“It’s good to hear the Second Division is doing so well,” Kisuke interjects after he tunes back in in time to listen to Yoruichi tell him about the new group of Academy graduates they just took in. “Will you be taking over their training or will Sui-Feng-san be making them regret ever stepping foot in the compound?”

Yoruichi cackles over the line. “You say that like I won’t make them regret that. But yes, Sui-Feng asked if I could train them, get’em up to snuff. I’ll even go easy on them the first week.”

“How fortunate for them,” Kisuke says drolly because he knows better than most how difficult a taskmaster Yoruichi is when she’s serious.

Yoruichi chortles again, and Kisuke’s hands hover briefly over the tea set he just took down.

It’s been a long time since he last heard his best friend laugh so freely.

“Well then?” Yoruichi prompts, her mirth fading a little. “That’s all the news on my side. Did you call just for an update or did you need something?”

Has something happened goes unspoken but not unheard.

Once, he could’ve called just to call.

“Nothing urgent,” He replies. “But I was wondering if you could make some time to come visit little old me today. Tessai-san too, if you know where he is. Otherwise, I’ll call him after this.”

There’s a beat of silence on Yoruichi’s end before her voice comes back on, casual in a way that only Kisuke and Tessai would be able to tell it isn’t entirely genuine. “Of course. I know where he is. I’ll swing by and pick him up. Twenty minutes?”

“See you then,” Kisuke agrees. “My regards to Sui-Feng-san.”

For once, Yoruichi only scoffs, amusement twined with an exasperated sort of skepticism because she’s never been any kind of oblivious in her life. But all she says is, “Right. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you.”

Kisuke hums noncommittally in the face of that bald-faced lie, says goodbye, and hangs up. He carries the tea tray over to the dining table and keeps each cup and the pot piping hot with a touch of his finger.

Then he waits.

“So what’s this about?” Yoruichi asks briskly, cutting to the chase after only a perfunctory sip of Kisuke’s tea. Tessai says nothing but he too looks at Kisuke expectantly, with only a slightly worried frown creasing his brow.

“Nothing overly important,” He repeats. He absently swirls the tea in his cup, catching a faint glimpse of his reflection in the pale green liquid. “I assume you’ve heard of Ichigo’s promotion?”

“I dunno if you’d call it a promotion,” Yoruichi snorts, looking amused. “But Kyouraku slapping the kid with a captaincy and his own division? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing half the Gotei has been talking about recently. Or at least they’ve heard the rumours.”

Tessai nods in agreement. “The Kidou Corps even received instructions to begin setting up the standard privacy and protection seals around the empty compound that has been assigned to the Fourteenth, but Kyouraku-soutaichou rescinded that order a few days ago. The Kidou Corps has been told to wait.”

Kisuke has to hide a smile behind his cup at that, but also a surge of possessive annoyance at the thought of anyone messing with the seals he’s already started constructing. Ichigo will have some explaining to do, but the Kidou Corps won’t be necessary this time. He wouldn’t mind if Tessai offered to help but there’s no way Kisuke is letting a bunch of nameless Shinigami lay a finger on his future headquarters’ defenses.

“There’s no set date for the induction ceremony yet,” Yoruichi adds. “But the haori’s all but got Ichigo’s name stamped on it.”

“Yes, and that’s what I wanted to discuss.” He pauses, then looks up, first at Yoruichi, then at Tessai, feeling strangely calm and centered in this one moment, with a thread of pride drumming steadily underneath. “Or not discuss. I’ve already made my decision.

“I’m planning on closing the shop,” He announces without fanfare as he reaches for the teapot, heedless of the way Yoruichi’s eyes widen and Tessai stiffens. “Ichigo has asked me to be his lieutenant, and I’ve accepted. I won’t have time to do that and spend my days in this shop waiting for the next Shinigami in need of my particular brand of expertise to show up on my doorstep, and if I won’t be living here anymore, it isn’t wise to let this place sit and gather dust. I’ll inform Kyouraku-soutaichou of course, but I thought I would tell you two first. I know some of your belongings are still in your rooms here, and Jinta and Ururu’s things will have to be boxed up and either placed in storage somewhere or shipped out to their apartment, but you’ll have the next week or so to move it all out before I begin dismantling the place.”

In the ensuing silence, the kitchen clock seems to tick especially loud. Kisuke savours his third cup of tea slowly.

Hmm. Does Inuzuri have a tea shop? Probably not. Well, there will be if Kisuke has anything to say about it.

“You’re… going to be the Fourteenth Division’s new vice-captain,” Yoruichi finally says.

“Yes,” Kisuke smiles winningly in her direction. “Ichigo came straight to me after meeting with the Soutaichou. Apparently, I was his first choice. How could I refuse?”

If there’s supposed to be a sting in his words, he thinks he hides it well.

Yoruichi’s eyes still narrow, cat-like and calculating. “You used to be a captain, Kisuke. Isn’t lieutenant a step down?”

“Well, I was also a fugitive,” Kisuke reminds her sardonically. “And that was probably at least ten steps down, but I managed, so I’m sure I’ll settle perfectly well into a lieutenant position.”

“That’s still not-”

“I never wanted it,” Kisuke cuts her off, and he could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s done that over the course of their lives and still have fingers left over. But he meets her gaze steadily, and he doesn’t blink, and the truth of those words ring between them for the very first time since Yoruichi signed him up for the captaincy trials, harsh and heavy and loud even though Kisuke never even raised his voice.

Tessai sits stone-still off to the side, his hands motionless around his own empty teacup. Yoruichi hisses out an irritated breath, sounding more cat than woman, but for once, there’s a frozen indecision in her expression that suggests she doesn’t know what to say.

“I prefer being a lieutenant,” Kisuke says eventually when the silence stretches too long. He lets his voice lighten to chase away the tension from before. He didn’t actually mean for the conversation to dig into issues best left in the past. “I’m more suited for it. And someone has to keep Ichigo out of trouble, right?”

A pause, and then Yoruichi makes a disbelieving noise at the back of her throat. “You’re as bad as he is, and he’s as bad as you. If anything, you two will be neck-deep in trouble together within the month!”

Well she’s not wrong. It’s probably not even going to take a month for Central 46 to catch wind of what they’re doing.

Kisuke shrugs. “Most likely, but at least it’s been historically proven that we’ll be able to get each other out of trouble as well, so we’ll be fine.”

Yoruichi rolls her eyes, and Tessai’s shoulders finally lose their rigidity again.

“We’ll have to get rid of everything in the back if we’re closing the shop,” Tessai says instead of adding his own opinion to Kisuke’s decision. “Should I donate it or…?”

“Have a sale,” Kisuke suggests. “I can keep the shop open for up to two weeks. Spread the word that everything will be fifty percent off. Donate the rest if there’s anything left at the end.”

Tessai nods, clearly already making plans for that in his head.

“Do you have a place to move into though?” Yoruichi asks, pouring herself some more tea. “Since Kisuke’s kicking us out.”

She gives Kisuke a sharp grin, all teeth, but the accusation lacked bite so Kisuke doesn’t let it bother him. Besides-

“They gave me my old set of apartments back,” Tessai admits, and the look he sends Kisuke is almost apologetic. “And the current Kidou Corps Commander, he was my former Third, and he’s been asking if I want my old position back. I’ve refused so far. It’s his now, and he’s good at it. But… I’ve been helping them with training and some of their missions. I wouldn’t mind returning to that, and Hachigen-san has been doing the same.”

Kisuke nods. Yoruichi looks between them before jabbing a finger at him. “You already knew. Of course you did.” She frowns. “I didn’t know. I’m losing my touch.” She scowls at him. “I guess you also know I’ve resumed Clan Head duties then?”

Kisuke arches an eyebrow. Yoruichi rolls her eyes again. “Right. Fine.” She sighs. “I’ll move my stuff out in the next few days. I suppose we’re all going back then.”

There’s a moment where they all just look at each other, a hundred years and change playing through their minds.

“We’re the stupidest fuckers in the world,” Yoruichi mutters with uncharacteristic vulgarity even for her, downing the rest of her tea in one gulp. “And if we get exiled again, I’m gonna kick my own ass for actually being this fucking dumb.”

“At least with Kurosaki-dono around and Kyouraku-soutaichou in charge,” Tessai says with a faint note of amused resignation. “Something like that would not be as likely.”

Yoruichi scoffs but doesn’t refute it. Tessai clambers to his feet, nodding to Kisuke. “I’ll get started on that inventory then, Boss.”

Silence resumes in the kitchen with Tessai’s departure. Kisuke offers Yoruichi the last of the tea, and when she shakes her head, he pours the rest for himself.

He still needs to make a trip to the bank. Then he should come and pack up a few pillows and blankets, maybe find a tent-- the shop probably has one. He has a feeling Ichigo will be working through the night, and it feels wrong to come back here to sleep while Ichigo’s still out there.

“Just tell me one thing,” Yoruichi says abruptly. Kisuke glances at her and finds her watching him with unblinking feline eyes. “You didn’t accept the post because you feel you owe the kid, did you?”

Kisuke… well, he thinks back to that conversation not even four days ago, to the honesty Ichigo offered him, to the expectation that Kisuke wouldn’t let him down, to you’re my first choice.

To the trust inherent in all those things.

Debts are fickle. Once paid off, there’s no guarantee of further loyalty.

But Ichigo trusts him enough to name Kisuke his Second, to want no one else for the position, to offer him equal standing in a plan that might just revolutionize Soul Society-- how can Kisuke give him anything less?

“No I didn’t,” He tells Yoruichi, and it’s a truth he’s glad to feel down to his very bones.

Yoruichi stares for a few seconds longer, and then her features soften into something warm and knowing, and kinder than Kisuke’s seen aimed at him in a good long while.

“Alright then.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, Kisuke,” Yoruichi stretches, limbs going loose and lazy as she cracks a fanged yawn. “Alright.”

Later, Tessai puts it into words, straightforward and to-the-point the way Yoruichi wasn’t.

“Is this what you want, Boss?”

“...Yes.”

“Alright then.”

[Part 5]

#bleach #uraichi #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #shihouin yoruichi #tsukabishi tessai #myscrap #gotei 14 verse

643 notes · View notes

garyofrivia · 5 years

Text

For They Shall Be Satisfied

Arthur Morgan x OC Chapter 3

(masterlist in bio)

A/N: yeehaw, some soft moments finally!! more where that came from hehe ;;))

Warnings/Categories: Violence, Angst

(WC: 4,356)

Back at camp, things were more lively than usual. The night before, the girls were in town working the saloon so they hadn’t had a chance to celebrate the success of the caravan robbery. Hosea and Pearson had brought in a wagonload full of beer and whiskey and they all had plans to get drunk out of their minds.

Annie had done her best to avoid Dutch when Arthur went to go talk with him and Hosea. She didn’t have the capacity to deal with any more politics that day, Dutch’s mind games included, and elected to go pass out for a few hours to make up for not sleeping the night before. It helped some, but she feared that the heavy feeling of her anxiety wouldn’t be put to rest by anything other than alcohol.

“You better slow down there,” Tilly said as Annie ravenously shoveled another spoonful of stew into her mouth. The pair of them were eating at the poker table and she realized that this was her first full meal in three days. “You might end up eatin’ the bowl!”

“So be it,” Annie said, chewing loudly.

“Good Lord, you’re no better than the men, Annie!” she said as she laughed and made a face.

“That’s not news, my friend. How’ve things been?”

“They’re better. Karen’s pleased that we’ll all be drinkin’ tonight since she won’t be the only one.”

“I’d imagine so,” Annie said. Mary-Beth and Karen took a seat next to them at the table, giggling and chatting between themselves.

“How are ya, Annie?” Mary-Beth asked in a sing-song voice as she ripped a chunk of bread into four parts to share with the rest of them.

“Never better. You’re a ray of sunshine today.”

Mary-Beth grinned. “I got this new journal in town yesterday. It has a pretty white leather binding and a clasp and everything!”

Annie smiled at her. “Sounds nice, I’m glad for you.”

“I told her she’d better not get too distracted or ole Grimshaw’s gonna throw it in the campfire,” Karen said.

They all tried not to make eye contact with Susan from across camp as they laughed. “You’re not kiddin’,” Tilly said.

“I’m upset I missed out on killin’ them O’Driscolls yesterday,” Karen said to Annie with a fascinated tone in her voice. “Sean told me you dropped ten of the bastards yourself!”

Annie shook her head and smirked. “Nah, only six.”

“Six! Now, that sounds like a party!”

“How are things around here?” Annie said, changing the subject.

“They’re fine, no thanks to you. You, missy, are lucky Miss Grimshaw’s been cuttin’ us all some slack with the chores as of recently. I’m not entirely sure why, but hey, I’m not complainin’.”

“I think she’s been gettin’… ya know… relieved of stress.” Mary-Beth said, low enough so that only the they could hear.

“Mary-Beth!” Tilly gasped. “No, there’s no way.”

Karen cackled hysterically. “Yes, there is no way.”

“I’m serious! Think about it. She’s spent an awful lot of time in Blackwater the past few days.”

Annie swallowed a stew-soaked bite of bread and chuckled. “Oh, if only life were as simple as those romance stories you read, Mary-Beth.”

“A girl can dream.”

Letting her mind wander away from the conversation, Annie looked out at all the familiar faces, friendly and unfriendly. Lenny, Charles, Swanson, Uncle, the Callander brothers, and Javier were all gathered around Sean at the campfire laughing hysterically at whatever story he was telling. Hosea and Arthur were standing at the opening of Dutch’s tent with Molly just inside, all having a quiet drink and smiling together. Micah and Bill were trash talking each other at the five-finger-fillet table and it was starting to get heated. Susan and Strauss were sitting peacefully near the medicine wagon, looking off over the ridge and the river. Abigail was playing with Jack near their tent, John just a few feet away watching them with sad eyes. The pair of them had just finished arguing about god knows what, but a few words thrown at John from Arthur ended it quicker than it started.

For a moment, it suddenly occurred to her what it all meant- and what it would really mean to lose all of it. If the bank shipment robbery was a success, that’d everything she needed to disappear and start over on her own. The thought made her stomach churn.

“Annie?” Karen’s voice snapped her back to reality.

The three girls at the table had a rare warmness about them. Their soft, carefree faces gave her he reminder she needed to put aside her troubles for the time being. It was not the night to think about what would be lost. That night would come soon enough.

“Want another drink? I was about to get a round for us.”

She smiled. “Sure, thanks, Karen.”

Soon enough, everyone was dancing, laughing, and talking around the big campfire. Hosea told one of his tall tales about his journeys out west. Dutch eventually put on his phonograph when everyone’d had plenty to drink. Arthur was even dancing with Karen and although he was terrible, swinging her all sorts of directions and swaying entirely off beat, she seemed to be enjoying it.

“My lady,” a lively voice broke through Annie’s mild buzz. Hosea held out a hand for her, inviting her to join the party instead of just observe it. “May I have this dance?”

“Why, yes sir, you may,” she said with a wide grin. She tossed her hat on her chair as he led her to a clear spot.

He led well and even flourished her a bit, careful to keep it subtle so she didn't feel like she was embarrassing herself. Though, to her dismay, she stumbled on a loose rock which prompted a comment about how she was better with using gun than she was with using her own two feet. She hadn’t seen him laugh this much in a long time. Since Bessie died, he’d grown a bit distant and bitter, but he never lost his wit. It was nice to see the rare occasion where he was enjoying himself.

“Have you given any thought to what we talked about?” he said, still smiling.

“I-, um, yeah. A bit,” she said, looking down to watch their feet move in sync.

“Good. Don’t worry, we don’t have to talk about it. You seemed… deep in thought earlier. I just hope that wasn’t my doing.”

“No, just today was a bit…”

“Chaotic?”

She chuckled. “Yes. To say the least.”

“Arthur told Dutch and I about the girl and the O’Driscolls. And that fella Benson. Why is it always the smooth talkin’, city-folk that are so slippery? Trelawny is the same way. More myth than man.”

“It’s not just city folk, it’s mountain men, too. And prairie girls. Let us not forget what you and I do.”

“Oh, I’d never,” Hosea said, laughing. “It takes one to know one, that’s for sure.”

Annie noticed that Sean had cut in to dance with Karen and Arthur was seated on a crate near Pearson’s wagon, whiskey in hand.

Hosea winked at her and called out to him. “Arthur! Get over here and take over, my back is killing me.”

“I’m good, Hosea,” Arthur said, smiling and raising his hands in defeat.

“You’re going to abandon a lady just like that, then?”

“Fine, fine, I’m comin’.” He reluctantly set his drink down and walked over to the pair of them.

“Thank you for a lovely dance, Miss Bolton,” Hosea said, bowing as he spoke. “I fear I must retire myself for this young fella here.”

“You were the one that called me over.”

“It’s fine if you want to cut in Arthur,” Annie nudged.

Arthur rolled his eyes and shooed Hosea away with a flick of his hand. “Get outta here, old man.”

“You kids and your entitled attitudes!” Hosea teased as he slinked off to get another drink for himself. “Got no respect for your elders!”

Arthur took over for Hosea, his strong, calloused hands replacing Hosea’s warm, weathered ones. He seemed a bit uncomfortable which made Annie blush slightly, but he eased into her stride. They were standing close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck, sending a chill down her spine. Neither of them enjoyed physical closeness, but for Annie, it never felt uncomfortable when it was with Arthur for some reason. She briefly wondered if he felt the same.

“How are you doin’?” he finally asked, breaking a silence she didn’t even realize was there before.

“Better, now that I’ve had a few beers.”

“Ain’t that how it always goes?”

“Indeed it is. He seems to be enjoying himself,” she said, nodding towards a seemingly very drunk Pearson who was dancing by himself, completely out of time with his arms outstretched as if he was holding a partner.

“That’s the most he’s gotten in months,” Arthur said, giggling like a kid.

She grinned at his goofy laugh and gave him a look of surprise. “Mister Morgan, are you drunk?”

“I think I may be gettin’ there, Miss Bolton.”

As she laughed, she looked into his soft, ocean colored eyes. They glistened with the light of the fire, like a sunset over a lake. “I’m not.”

“Well, then why the hell are we dancin’? Let’s get some whiskey in you.” He took her hand and led her over near Pearson’s wagon and handed her a small bottle of liquor from the box. “Drink up.”

She took a few large gulps which an impressed eyebrow raise from Arthur. He pulled up a second stool and they both sank into their seats, silently agreeing to keep all future partner dancing to a minimum.

“Cheers,” Arthur said and they they clinked their bottles together. “So, Dutch says he wants to go for the Benson job. Hosea on the other hand wasn’t too excited for it when I told him how things went down.”

She glanced at him for a hint of an expression, but his face was unchanged. “Did you actually tell them how it went?”

“Yes, I did. Hey, you had the opportunity to be there if you wanted to. But you have... other plans."

She furrowed her eyebrows, giving him a look that half asked him to keep quiet while in the middle of camp and the other asking him if he was still angry about her plan to leave.

He laughed lightly. "Relax, I won't get on you for that no more. Well, not tonight, anyways."

She sighed and shook her head. “It’s just a bad idea.”

“I agree, but we need the money. There’ll be close to a hundred thousand dollars on that shipment. Half that is a good take for us. Better than good.”

“Yeah, well…”

She couldn’t argue with him there, though she doubted this would be the end of that conversation. If it ended up being a trap, she figured they’d likely been in worse situations before. Hopefully, it’d be nothing they couldn’t handle.

She took in the sounds of the party for a moment- the laughing, singing, Javier’s guitar now playing instead of the phonograph. It felt like Christmas.

“Hey, Arthur,” she said, suddenly feeling the liquor creeping up on her. “What’s the best Christmas gift you ever got?”

“What?”

“Christmas! Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a Christmas present before.”

“I have.”

“Well, what was it then?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, my pa and I rarely ever did anything like that. Dutch bought me my first horse, though. I suppose that’s somethin’.”

“Shit, a horse?”

“Yup. Buttercup. I was sixteen and still couldn’t come up with a better name for a palomino pony than that.” He chuckled at the thought.

She shrugged. “It’s a nice name.”

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What was the best gift you ever got for Christmas?”

“Hmm. The gift of friendship!”

He rolled his eyes. “No, no, I told you, now you gotta tell me.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, the stress from recent events, or a combination of the two, but she started speaking before she knew what it was that came over her.

“My daddy gave me a bracelet a long time ago. And my mama got me the matching necklace. They weren’t nothin’ expensive. I suppose it was all they could do.”

Arthur nodded and hummed softly, carefully taking in her words.

“I lost the pieces within a week, of course. Though, I sure wish I hadn’t.”

He paused for a moment, thoughtfully. “It’s funny, lookin’ back at things like that. You never know, in the moment, which things’ll have fond memories attached and which things just sorta... fade away.”

Remembering the flower on his bedside table next to the portrait of his mother, she knew he understood. The man beside her had known pain just as she had, or at least had known loss. For some reason it was a difficult thought, to know he’s lost so much, too. She almost wanted to push back the hair that had fallen over his forehead and ask about his life before Dutch and the outlaw life that didn’t really make sense anymore. About what his mother was like, or what his son was like- what everything was like for him back then. But a different question came to mind.

“What happens when all this is done with?” She asked suddenly. “Everything with the robbin’ and the killin’? If that job pulls through, that could be it.”

He sighed and looked to the stars twinkling overhead. “I haven’t really thought about that.”

Annie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, you have.”

“Sure, but it’s all just in theory. No use in gettin’ anyone’s hopes up in case this ends up not workin’ out.”

“Then what do you hope for? Ideally?”

“I don’t know. To just live, I guess. Get a ranch like Dutch says. Free of the law and all the gangs tryina chase us. Maybe somewhere in the mountains out west. Those sunsets are incredible.”

Annie nodded, her vision slightly blurring with the movement, and she realized how truly intoxicated she was. “Well, that sure is somethin’, ain’t it?”

“What about you? You seem to have everything figured out.”

“I guess, I just hope I die old.”

Arthur laughed. “That’s it?”

“Sure. Folks don’t make a habit of livin’ very long in this line of work. I just wanna turn gray and wrinkly and fragile and die at home in my bed knowin’ that I did everything I could. What else is there, in the end?”

“I guess you have a point.”

“I always have a point, Arthur Morgan.”

She stood and started off go join the party again as the first of the drinking games commenced. But something in her paused, mid-stride. She turned to look back at Arthur as he watched her leave.

Smiling warmly and with a sincerity that hadn’t shown itself in a long time, she held his gaze. “I hope you get your mountain ranch.”

***

The morale boost that the party had faded quickly and Annie fell back into her routine of feeding the horses, cleaning guns, and hunting for camp, her low mood returning with the responsibility along with everyone else's. Talk of a new job had spurred impatience and restlessness. Maybe it was the dry air or the simple, lonesome town of Blackwater, but everyone seemed bored out of their minds.

Dutch sent Arthur to meet with Benson to give him an answer at the scheduled time and place and they were given three days to prepare until the convoy was set to arrive. Hosea was the one that had the idea to verify that there was a legitimate delivery. Karen volunteered to sweet talk the bank manager and sure enough, he confirmed it.

“He said that it’s more security on that those coaches than anything he’s ever heard of,” she told them.

Hosea rubbed his chin in thought but Dutch didn’t look worried. “We’ll have that diversion from Benson’s side. It shouldn’t be a problem, we’ve dealt with plenty of escorts before.”

“What exactly is the diversion?” Annie asked.

“He said he was still figurin’ out a few of the minor details, and that was apparently one of ‘em,” Arthur said.

“The diversion isn’t a minor detail,” she said. “It’s the one thing in this plan that’ll help it to not be a complete disaster.”

“I’d suggest we have a backup plan then,” Dutch said, a bit too harshly. “You’re so fond of coming up with those, so it shouldn’t be nothin’ that we need to worry about.”

“She’s right, Dutch,” Hosea said.

Annie looked between Dutch and Arthur expectantly, but neither said anything. The four of them, John, and Karen were gathered around Dutch’s tent. He was in a bad mood for some ungodly reason, so the conversation was a bit more difficult than it usually was.

“I know she’s right, Hosea, thank you,” Dutch snapped.

“Why don’t we do this another time?” John said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“We don’t have time, dumbass,” Arthur said.

“We’ll have a plan,” Dutch said. “Because Hosea and Annie are gonna handle this. Figure it out. Now, I have a few other things to attend to if you lot will kindly get the hell out of my tent.”

Annie rolled her eyes and looked to Hosea to say something. He sucked his teeth and looked up to meet her eyes. “We’ll take care of it, Dutch.”

Karen gave Annie a look of annoyance and snuck away from the rest of them as they headed towards the game table. Hosea spread out a map of the area with the delivery route traced by Benson.

“Here’s all we have. They want it to take place here,” he said, pointing to a spot a few miles north of Blackwater.

“Is no one gonna talk about Dutch?” John interjected.

“There’s nothin’ to talk about,” Arthur said a bit too quickly.

“Why’s he in one of his moods?”

“I don’t know, let it go.”

John looked up at Annie for a response but was only met with an icy glare. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Alright.”

“What if we made our own diversion if they end up not comin’ through for us?” Arthur said.

“Why would they not come through with their end of the deal?” Annie droned. She had given up on trying to hide her frustration. “It’d give us a window to grab all the money, not just fifty percent. The trap would never be in the shipment or the ambush. If anything it’d be in the escape. A setup so they can take all the cash and then set the law on us for the bounty money. And they’d be sittin’ mighty pretty on that mountain of gold.”

Arthur leaned toward her, folding his hands on the table. Annie remained slouched with her arms crossed. “Did it occur to you to share that before now?”

“It didn’t come up before now,” she shrugged. “We don’t even know who these fools are, I told you my piece from the beginning.”

“I agree with you, but that don’t matter. We just gotta do what we gotta do.”

“And walk right into a trap is what we gotta do, then? Like we’re fuckin’ blind?”

“Can we focus on this and get at least some semblance of a plan so we can tell that pinhead over there something?” Hosea insisted. “You three can squabble about this later. If we plan for the worst, we’ll be prepared for the worst. It’s simple, really.”

Arthur and John nodded reluctantly and Annie decided to swallow her pride, at least for the moment. She turned her attention to the map and began running the scenarios through in her head, talking aloud as she thought it through.

“If the diversion doesn’t happen, though I’m bettin’ it will, we don’t move on it, simple as that,” she said. “Every move we make has to have some kinda signal. We split into three groups around the ambush point, two here and one here. One rider from each group hangs back to keep watch while the rest go in for the take. If they see somethin’ they’ll signal and we abort immediately. If it ends up bein’ clear all the way through, we secure our half before we make our getaway.”

“What if it’s just a bounty setup and it’s a bunch of lawmen expectin’ us?” John asked, making Arthur roll his eyes.

Annie scoffed. “Then we all die in a blaze of glory, I guess.”

Hosea sighed and shook his head. “Dutch thinks it’s a risk we need to take.”

“To hell with what Dutch thinks,” she blurted out before she realized what she was saying. Arthur and John stared at her and she couldn’t tell if they were surprised or angry. “I didn’t mean… All I’m sayin’ is… it’s a stupid idea. We shouldn’t just do it because Dutch says so.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. Yep, he’s mad.

“Annie...” Hosea warned.

She paused for a moment and looked between the three of them, anger rising in her chest. Hosea was tense, Arthur angry, and John clearly exasperated.

“What’s your deal?” Arthur asked, shaking his head in frustration.

She huffed an shifted in her seat. “Nothin’, I guess.”

“Annie, you can take a minute to cool off,” Hosea said, calmly. “We can come back to this later.”

“Yeah, let’s waste precious time while we let everyone take a personal day,” Arthur muttered. “Wonderful idea.”

“C’mon, just calm down,” John pleaded. “Nothin’s gonna get done if we’re all at each other’s throats.”

“Shut up, Marston,” Arthur snapped. “You’re the one to lecture about ‘teamwork’, are you?”

Annie couldn’t take it anymore. Without a word, she jumped to her feet and stormed away from the table, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. It took all she had to not pummel Sean when he accidentally got in her way. She grabbed a carton of cigarettes and matches from her things and strode over to go sit on a log near the river. With shaky hands, she lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and plopped down on the dead slab of wood.

There were so many other ways to earn money, ways that didn’t involve trusting a conman. It didn’t make sense why Dutch was so adamant about this. Hosea tries his best, but even he can’t keep everyone’s ducks in a row all the time, though how could anyone? John was trying to be better, which she’d give him credit for, but Arthur was just… being Arthur. The angry son of a bitch that wouldn’t let up on the “loyalty” trip, even for a moment. They all sure argued like family and if nothing else, it was like living in a goddamn zoo.

“I know you’re upset,” a voice said from behind her.

Dutch’s sudden presence was surprising but she didn’t care to turn to face him. “Call it off, Dutch.”

She heard him sigh and he took a seat next to her on the log. “You’ve been right more often than you’ve been wrong, Annie, I will admit that. All I’m asking is for you to outsmart ‘em. You’ve done it before, with less.”

“Dutch…”

He looked sad. Desperate, almost. She suddenly couldn’t bring herself to argue with him.

He peered at her with tired, soulful eyes, thinking for a moment before he spoke again. “I met this man, Andrew Crawford, a few months ago. He told me to contact him if we even ran into a situation where we needed the law off our backs. When things got bad out west, I told him we needed his help and we’d be out near Blackwater. So he wrote me and said he’d come, asking to send someone to meet him to discuss the details. And well, you know the rest. I just… want this to be our final ticket outta here. It’s all we got left to do!”

She nodded her understanding. He was doing what thought he needed to keep the gang safe. That, she understood. She just had her own version of it. Dutch wasn’t a bad man, she knew that much. But his judgement had been misguided recently. Hosea sometimes couldn’t even get through to him.

“What would they do clear our names?”

“From my understanding, whoever he works for is close with the Marshal Service. They have a few boys that they pay off to do their bidding.”

“Why’d you use a fake name, then?”

He shrugged. “I had suspicions about the legitimacy of his offer, same as you. That’s why I sent Arthur and you to go verify that he was who he said he was. I need you to understand, Annie, my girl. I’m not doin’ this for the money. This could be it for us! We’d be free! If it’s a setup, so be it. We got a whole lot to gain and next to nothin’ left to lose. You get me?”

We got our lives to lose, she wanted to say. She exhaled another long stream of smoke. “I get you, Dutch.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, clapping a hand on her back.

“Did somethin’ happen this morning? With Molly? I saw she’s not in camp.”

Dutch sighed. “She told me she wanted to ‘go off and enjoy herself’, whatever the hell that means. Think she went to the saloon to quench that Irish thirst of hers. Now, I mean no offense by this, but women can be… well, you know.”

Annie chuckled. “I do?”

“Let me just say- love is a bumpy road. But if ya don’t get on the wagon, you can’t get thrown off.”

“I don’t think I know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

He laughed and and patted her shoulder once more. “I pray you never do, my dear.”

He left her alone with her thoughts, and once again, she wasn’t sure what to think about anything.

#rdr 2 fic #rdr 2 fanfic #red dead redemption fic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr oc #my oc #my fics #annie bolton #for they shall be satisfied #ftsbs

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rock-n-roll-curly-blonde · 6 years

Text

Fanfic: Did You Notice Me?

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Set: London, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day

Warnings: Just some inappropriate comments here and there and an innuendo.

I believe this will take you half an hour to read, please enjoy...

It was the last night of December of 1974, a chilly one. You and your three girl best friends, Katie, Penelope and Anna, have been roaming the streets of London in high heels, short dresses, faces of light make-up and -at least- warm winter coats for and hour or so, when you finally decided you should get in a club. It was 22:30 after all, and very soon the next year would dawn. You picked one that wasn’t so popular between the masses, but it was well known between the musicians and fans of the British music scene of the time…

Just as you entered the club, you noticed a group of four young men who had just published their third studio album and were cornered by many other girls, fans that is, because the only thing the boys seemed to be interested in, was talking to them politely so they wouldn’t offend their very own fans. Apart from that, they seemed uninterested in those girls.

You quickly averted your attention elsewhere because you didn’t want them to notice you, especially the lanky guitarist, whom you had longed, for quite some time now. So, you and your friends headed to the bar to order some alcohol.

About an hour had passed, the atmosphere was constantly getting better, and the music was more electrifying with each passing second. The four of you were moving around, slightly dancing to the music, when all of a sudden the song playing is changed, and you recognize it being one of your favourites. So you hurry to the center of the dance floor, while still on the short intro. Just as the singer starts singing, the lyrics match your state of being and serve your purpose. “Here I stand, look around around around…” And you really hope that Brian will notice you dancing in synch to one of their newest hits, and he might get the message as well…

After the song fades out you quickly return to your friends with a flushed face. Anna scans the crowd, locating Queen, and informs you, the four of them are chatting with each other, while looking towards your direction, seeming quite interested this time.

You managed to calm down in the following minutes, let the excitement subside and the four of you have returned to light chatting and dancing when the music slowly fades and finally stops completely. Then it is time for the countdown. 1974 will soon be upon you.

“10… 9…”

For some seconds you lock eyes with Brian May, but quickly resume counting with the rest of the crowd.

“4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!!!!”

Everyone is on the dancefloor celebrating 1975 while electrifying music returns, this time with The Rolling Stones’ Can’t You Hear Me Knocking. You head outside for a little bit to get some fresh air and unwind from the tension a little, leaving behind your friends and everyone else dancing. Or well, not everyone, someone is closely following you without you taking notice of them.

You leant on the club’s brick wall, cool wind blowing in your face and hair. You observed your surroundings, but then averted your attention to that night’s clear sky full of shining stars.

You continued observing the outer space from your spot down on the earth when you jumped scared in the sudden hearing of an unfamiliar voice. “Happy New Year!” You hadn’t noticed the presence of the other person out there. Still, when you turned to face him, you knew exactly who he was. A light blush crept up your face, but it was hardly noticeable due to your make-up and the minimum amount of light the moon provided.

“Oh, Brian, you scared the hell out of me. Happy New Year!” you replied first nervous then smiling.

“So you know who I am,” he flashed you one of those smiles that are able to melt your heart “but I don’t even know your name. Care to introduce yourself ??”

You wished you could tease him a little, not telling him your name, but you couldn’t resist him. “My name is (Y/N), nice to meet you in person !!” you winked.

“Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)… How did you end up out here ??” he inquired you.

Well, I needed some fresh air and ended up here looking at the stars. Ain’t a great night for stargazing ??”

“Hmmm, that is true… But since it’s a bit chilly out here…” the guitarist started by averting his brown eyes to gaze at his original workfield before Queen occurred, but then his voice trailled off awkwardly.

But you were more than interested in what he had to say… “Yes..??”

“ Well, (Y/N) I thought I should suggest since you clearly already know some things about me, but I just know your name and that you are a great dancer, if you would be interested in going inside, getting a table and chatting a bit more ??” he proposed.

Your response was a simple “I would love to !!” So you headed back inside the club.

Brian led the way and found a quiet spot where you could sit down and talk, this time with background music, you paid attention for a few seconds and recognized Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog.

But the tall musician interrupted your thoughts when he spoke up again… “So, (Y/N), do you work somewhere ?? Or are you still studying ?? I’m sorry, I can’t guess your exact age.” he stared right into your eyes with a shameful expression, although you thought there was no reason for him to be ashamed, you had to admit to yourself, it was cute.

A grin appeared in your lips and you answered his question “I’m 24, and I am in my last year studying History. How about you Brian ??”

“Well, I am 27 and I was studying Astrophysics, but the band is doing good at the moment, so I halted my studies…” his voice trailed off in that last part of the sentence and the curly guitarist seemed a little concerned about your reaction to the fact that if Queen fell apart soon, he wouldn’t have anything to do and should return to college, but you weren’t thinking about that.

“I see, speaking of Queen, I think you guys are doing a great job !! I love your songs !!” you exclaimed. This time was Brian’s turn to blush at that comment.

“Thank you, I am very glad to hear you do, what other artists or genres do you listen to (Y/N) ??”

“I like The Beatles” Brian’s face lit up in excitement in the hearing of these words “The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, actually almost every today’s and yesterday’s artist” you added with a playful wink. “But I also like Jazz and Blues artists and songs.”

“You seem to be up to date with what is going on in the music industry then !! Do you have a favourite (Y/N) ??” asked a fully engaged in the conversation Brian.

“To be honest, yes, I do. And it is the truth… Queen. You guys are my favourite band.” you replied without colouring your voice, just telling the sincere truth. Nevertheless, that simple comment made Brian’s cheeks turn crimson red, and him both extremely happy and terribly shy at the same time, not able to utter another word.

A few moments passed by with Brian fiddling around, wondering what he should say, but you started laughing erratically so he just stared at you confused and now wondering whether you had been playing a game all along.

“Oh Brian…” you managed, but you continued laughing, not able to speak.

This time, however, Brian managed to regain his composure and you had to, too.

“(Y/N), I don’t like people playing with me… I liked you and I wanted to get to know you, but I won’t keep this up if this is a joke.” Brian stated with that authoritian voice only he could manage, quite angry this time, and you knew you had to calm him down again and set the record straight.

“I can imagine, and I am sorry I started laughing, I just found hilarious the fact that you couldn’t believe your band is someone’s favourite. I am not playing with you, in fact I hate being played on so I would never do that. On the contrary, I believe I must confess something…” you added, hesitation audible in your voice.

“I am listening (Y/N) !!” Now Brian was very interested in what you had to say, still very careful though and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t get away with not telling him.

However, before you could continue, Katie appeared out of the blue and exclaimed “(Y/N) !!! Here you are at last !! It’s been more than an hour since you left us and we were worried. Hi Brian, I’m Katie, (Y/N)’s friend.” she introduced herself.

Before you could respond and although Brian was a little taken aback by Katie’s sudden invasion he replied with that oh so calm and polite attitude and voice of his, nothing to remind you of the way he was previously using when he spoke to you, a way that made you feel somewhat guilty, a little like a small child being scolded at. “Nice to meet you Katie !! Your whole group of friends seems to know me. Do you need (Y/N) ??”

Katie dismissed the offer with a wave of her hand but also said “No, we were just wondering what happened to her. And of course we know you. Like she ever shuts up about Queen !!” she added an eye-roll to emphasize. “Okay, so I’m going back to Penelope and Anna. Later guys !!” and with that she left.

Meanwhile, your face couldn’t have been redder with shame, you wouldn’t dare look Brian in the eyes and wished the earth would open then and there so you could vanish for ever.

Brian was really amused with this turn of the tables. He was also convinced you weren’t lying or playing with him, and that relaxed him and made him happier. Now he had the upper hand, and since you wouldn’t dare to speak yet, he started a little monologue.

“Okay, (Y/N)…” he started, and your eyes, without you being able to control them, like they were experiencing some sort of strange gravity, fixated on Brian’s brown ones. “You have to thank Katie, because now I believe you really like Queen and the only reason you were laughing was because you did found funny my reaction, and not because you were playing with me.” The only thing you managed, was a sigh of relief. “Still, this feels insincere. I feel like every reaction of yours is well thought out and perfectly calculated. I must admit I felt something for you when I saw you dancing to Now I’m Here that is why I tried to get to know you but it feels like a trap. I want to hear what you have to say about this, but please tell me the truth. Not just a part of it, all of it.” He clarified, and now you had to defend yourself and be honest or you could lose him. This put a great burden on you and you were close to crying, still you had to be strong.

You both looked into each other’s eyes as you spoke, and Brian noticed you were on the verge of tears, without saying a word about it nevertheless.

You took a deep dreath and started telling Brian your side of the story. Your voice was a whisper, barely audible. “In that case I have to start from the beginning of my story. Moreover, I want to thank you for allowing me to tell you everything before you make up your mind…. Well, I listened to your first album, Queen, and I was amazed. The sound was so originally, different than what I had ever heard before and your songs spoke to my soul. So, I wanted to see you live. I once came to a gig of yours and you, Brian, caught my attention. I kept an eye and an ear on your work ever since, and I’ve been to a couple of your shows as well. I was thinking about you day in, day out. I fell in love with you, in fact, I still am. As for today, I didn’t know you would be here. We just chose this club for the night. As we entered, I saw you were here. When Now I’m Here played, I did what I would have done even if you weren’t present, but I also saw it as my chance to catch your attention. And, boy, I did, apparently. When I went out, I just needed some fresh air, I hadn’t noticed you followed me, but I was happy you did. I do know a lot of things about you, yes, and I guess that was what made it insincere, but Brian I am infatuated.” You finished that off and a tear you had been holding for too long fell out of your eye. You were anticipating the reply, you were really nervous, afraid it wouldn’t be what you wanted to hear. Every second passing, felt like an hour. You didn’t even dare look at Brian anymore, you had just put your head down, hoping for an answer.

Brian was processing what you had told him for a couple of minutes. When he finally came up with what he thought was an appropriate response, he spoke these exact words.

“(Y/N), look at me. There’s no reason to be like this now. No matter what I am gonna say, you said everything, so the matter isn’t in your hands anymore.” In the hearing of those words, you looked the guitarist straight in the eyes again. His words were soothing, even though this could mean that he would reject you. “I want to believe what you just said, is true. And I do, I believe you, because I had noticed you all three times you came to our gigs, even though you always stayed in the shadows, you always sang along, knew every word to every song and you did caught my attention back there, so I knew some things about you, too. I just didn’t know your name or anything else, really. I want to get to know you better, but since we are both equally attracted to each other, would you like to be my girlfriend (Y/N) ??” he did speak some words you had fantasized of hearing, but never thought you actually would.

A stream of tears ran down your face, when all the tension that had built-up during this short time-span vanished. “Oh my, of course I do Brian !! Yesss !!” you exclaimed happily.

You fell into his warm embrace, and the both of you stayed like that for some minutes. Brian carefully dried your tears, in order to save your make-up.

Brian was the one that finally broke apart that embrace, and suggested you went to meet his bandmates. John, Roger and Freddie. You agreed withought a second thought, it was your favourite band after all, and added you should go to your friends as well. So you headed to them first.

You made your way through the crowd hand in hand. You had to admit it was less crowded now, but it was half past three already.

“Brian !! Do you know what time is it ?? We have been talking for so long we didn’t notice the time that passed. It is half past three already !!” you repeated, this time out loud, since you couldn’t quite believe it. You finally found Anna, Penelope and Katie chatting without stopping, even for a breath.

“GIRLS!!!” you shouted in order to be heard. All three turned around to face you and were genuinely surprised to find you side by side and holding hands with Brian, even though they knew you had longed him for over a year now, and Katie had seen you talking some time ago.

Penelope was the first one to overcome the shock so, she spoke first “Guys, (Y/N), Brian tell me you are together now !!”

“Yes Penelope, we are. Can you believe it ??” You confirmed her suspicion, still trying to process the fact yourself yourself. “Oh and Brian, this is Penelope, and that is Anna. You already met Katie.”

“Nice to meet you girls” he said, flashing them a smile. “Shall we go the boys now ??”

“Fred, Rog, Deaky, what did I miss ??” Brian asked when you had found them.

“Ah, nothing special, dear. Just some hook-ups” he added, flashing a naughty wink, and although Roger didn’t seem to care at all, John blushed heavily. “How about you Bri ?? You’ve been missing for hours. I was just starting to worry and I would come searching for you, unless another hook-up occurred…” Brian rolled his eyes at that somewhat inappropriate comment of Freddie’s, and Roger chuckled.

Meanwhile you just stood there, by Brian’s side, smiling. You were a bit taken aback, meeting your favourite band in person, while being in a relationship with one of its members was surreal.

Before Brian could introduce you, Roger jumped up from where he was sat and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Roger. So, who are you pretty girl ?? You were the one dancing to Now I’m Here, weren’t you ??”

The band was even more quick to respond to each other, before you could even utter a word. “Rog dear, you are right, she was the one.” Freddie added before he turned to face you, “Darling you have amazing moves, rhythm, you were completely in synch with Rogιe’s drumming and, I must add, a great taste in music !!”

This time it was Brian who spoke up “Fred, I don’t know about that last comment about the great taste in music. Her favourite band is ours !!” He teased the arrogant frontman. “And, well, this is (Y/N), my girlfriend !! Do you remember I had told you that in three of our gigs there was a girl that remained in the shadows but shone even from there ?? This was her !!” There were some exclamations from the guys, but this time all of them fell silent for you to talk.

“I am standing in front of my favourite band, okay, so…. All of you seem to know about me, too, Brian !!” you teased your new boyfriend, poking his side. “Well, Freddie thanks for the compliments, and, I must say, I have a soft spot for the drums, so it was unthinkable of me to not be in synch with them. Nice to finally meet you Freddie, Roger and John.” You left the boys behind too.

“Bri ?? Shall we dance ??” you suggested.

Brian seemed hesitant “I am not a really good dancer (Y/N)…” the guitarist replied, biting his lip.

“Ah, Brian !!!” you pouted. “Look around you… Nobody is going to judge you or really care about your abilities !! You should be dancing for fun, this isn’t a competition.” you smiled sweetly.

“In that case, let’s go dance !!” Brian seemed more happy and relieved now.

You two headed to the dancefloor. Now the DJ had slowed the pace, playing more romantinc songs. You started moving around slowly, embracing each other, while Something, the quiet Beatle’s song played. You stayed like that till the end of that song and then broke apart that embrace but continued dancing, facing each other to Touch Me by the Dooors

When you stopped dancing you decided you would like to return to Brian's home so before you broke apart you decided you would meet outside the club. Then you separated ways and the guitarist headed to his band while you went to your group of friends to grab your purse and coat. Before you headed out, you gave your girl friends some insight of your conversation with Brian, and then headed out to meet him again.

The two of you left the club, leaving behind your friends. You were walking the, usually crowded and noisy, but now so quiet and calm, streets of London. It was so peaceful, the festive atmosphere made your walk back to the curly guitarist’s home, so romantic. Brian had his hand draped around your back and resting on your shoulder. You were chatting, informing each other about your lives, everything you could think of. The stars were shining brighter than you had ever seen them shine. Both of you were blissful, just enjoying the moments, taking in as much as you could.

After walking for about 20 minutes, you tuned right once more and got in the second house of that block. It was a small but beautiful little house, with a garden. Brian fumbled with the keys and the lock, and once he managed to open the door he let you in. After he closed the door, he leant in and kissed you. It was a quick, sloppy kiss, but it was your first one.

First thing you did when in the house was preparing some tea, then you sat on the sofa draped in a blanket each, chatting, laughing, getting to know each other. When it finally dawned you were tired but very happy.

You got up, still draped in your blankets and headed to Brian’s bedroom, closed the curtains, discarded the blankets and your clothes. Brian whispered in your ear “You’ve been starring in my dreams...” You and Brian fell on the bed, but no matter how tired you were, sleeping isn't what you were planning on doing...

I hope this didn’t have any spelling or grammatical errors, but I’m sure it has. Anyway...

Well, this is my first Queen fanfiction, I really hope you liked it, please tell me what you thought of it with an anon, private message, comment, even with a like. I don’t care whether it is bad or good, I wanna know.

Special thanks to @prettyxlittlexwriter for proofreading for me.

You can reblog if you want, I would appreciate it more than you could think... So, if you feel like reblogging don’t hesitate. Much love...

#queen #queen fanfiction #queen fic #fanfiction #fic #my fic #brian x reader #bri x reader #brian may x reader #queen x reader #did you notice me?

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